


Empire

by The_Ghost_King



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji is a God, Alternate Mythology, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Arson, Bathing/Washing, Bokuaka aka the Protagonists of the World, Bokuto and Kuroo are breaking up eventually I'm so sorry, Boys In Love, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Childhood Memories, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Endgame BokuAka, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gods, Gold Symbolism, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up Together, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Killing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Magic, Memory Alteration, Minor Character Death, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor Semi Eita/Tendou Satori, Murder, No one is surprised, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Orphanage, Semi-Amnesia, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary relationship, Time Skips, eventually, just weird memory stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ghost_King/pseuds/The_Ghost_King
Summary: A God is born from silver rain on a fateful night by the full moon over an open lake. He meets a boy with golden eyes and they know that the word 'Destiny' was made for them.And from the rainComes a river running wild that will createAn empire for you
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Semi Eita/Tendou Satori
Comments: 54
Kudos: 63





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I posted something similar to this four years ago and it was shit back then so I deleted it and now with some better writing skills I have returned, hope y'all will enjoy.
> 
> The story is inspired by [This Song](https://youtu.be/H2lzxGcbz-g)

High, high up in the mountains there’s a crystal clear, unmoving lake. It is sapphire blue and shines under the full moon and the unending stars. Glitters like it’s sprinkled with sparkling silver. 

The lake is still till the middle of this fateful night.

The moon is up high, and the stars twinkle in their spots.

A single drop of silver rain falls from the heavens to the middle of the lake. The ripple it causes spreads out far and wide to the lake’s edges. Making the water lap softly at the shore.

There is no one to see the water transform but the Gods up above, waiting for another to join them.

The silver droplet shines brighter and brighter under the lake’s surface. The ripple it caused multiplies, till the lake’s stillness is disrupted continuously by the pulsing silver orb.

First the feet of the child form. Its tiny toes wiggle and its ankles shift. Its legs kick out and move as its arms form, tiny fingers making small movements and then bigger as it gains control of its arms. Its face is last to form, but even as a newborn it is beautiful, like only still water by a full moon can be.

The child’s eyes are closed as it rises through the water and moves along the surface to the lake's edge. It’s blue-ish skin, stretches and writhes before settling comfortably. A bright olive complexion indicates the child’s good health.

It reaches the shore and opens its eyes.

They are a crystal clear, heavenly blue.

* * *

The child lies on the shore for no longer than an hour before a woman and her young son walk by. 

Drawn to the lake this fateful night by fate’s golden strings, which tangle and twist around the three, only to be seen by the silver eyes of Fate’s dutiful Watcher.

The woman scoops her son onto her hip and holds him close to her chest as she walks to the water’s edge. Careful and alert, drawn in by an insistent pull that she could not escape, drawing her nearer.

Her young son clings to his mother in his tiredness. He is barely a single year old. His hair is a dark curtain that hangs to his ears. His eyes are a luminous gold, that fate’s strings cling to like moths drawn to a flame. 

Fate’s Watcher waits with bated breath as the three conglomerate. The strings tying them together becoming tighter and tighter. Buzzing and vibrating with the future life they will live, with their story, invisible to their unsuspecting eyes.

The mother finds the newly born deity and is enraptured with the blue of his eyes. They look familiar, feel familiar, like a tale just out of reach.

She takes him, and this is to be the start.

The catalyst of the inevitable coming together and breaking apart of these young ones. Destined to rule and destined for each other.

“This will be good,” Fate’s Watcher says as he watches the woman go back to her home. Son and God in her arms.

* * *

A city lies at the foot of the mountain. 

The nation is small, but its king is well-loved. Destined to be prosperous, it’s treasury filled one day with gold and its people held in high esteem.

Its influence shall spread far and wide. To the far corners beyond the mountains and the solitary, holy lake that looms over it. Its emperor will measure his fame by the height of the stars, his renown like no one before him. He shall be known to be favoured by Gods, and his spouse will be known as the most beautiful in all the lands.

They will rule, as they should, their empire for two.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mere days after she found the newborn baby on the lake’s shore, Bokuto Chiaki gets a visitor.

Mere days after she found the newborn baby on the lake’s shore, Bokuto Chiaki gets a visitor.

She opens the door for him and knows, immediately, that this cannot be a mortal. One of the Gods has decided to bless her with a divine visit. 

The man is tall and handsome. With a chiselled face, glowing with eternal youth. His hair is brown and curls up at the tips like curlicues on the announcements that the king down below makes. His smile is soft and friendly but his eyes spark with divinity. He wears a white cloak with teal stripes and a teal hood. Pristine even though the lands surrounding her humble mountain home are muddy and bushy.

“Good evening,” she tells the man, “how may I help you?”

He smiles at her. Disarming and kind, shining with divinity.

“I heard you found a baby not too long ago, I’ve come to name him,” the man says, his voice lilting and slow. Calming yet powerful. Not threatening at all, even though he looms over her and seems broad.

Chiaki wonders what she’s gotten herself into by picking up the little wailing bundle. She’d thought that the baby’s parents might have abandoned him and hoped that he would drown when the next heavy rain made the lake cross its established shore.

She would have never suspected the Gods to be a part of it.

“Please do come in,” she says and beckons the man closer. She offers him food and drink as he steps into her humble abode but he kindly declines. 

His presence fills the entirety of the one-room house and both her son and the little bundle she’d picked up awaken.

Normally Koutarou is a very boisterous young boy, especially just after he’s woken up, but this time he’s dead silent. Blinking wide golden eyes at the man in silent awe and hidden fear.

The little bundle does make sound, he gurgles and murmurs and the man chuckles.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” the man says reaching his hand into the small crib where Chiaki had put him and letting the baby clamp onto his pinky, “you were a little hard to find, and we were unsure of your name, little one,” he whispers these words whilst smiling, like the baby and man have their own little conspiracy, their own universe that mere mortals could never be privy to.

The man uses the hand which the baby isn’t holding to slowly draw a set of characters in the air. They sparkle and glow and disappear, almost as if the baby sucked them up as quickly as they appeared and the man chuckles.

“You’ll be a strong one someday, little one, strong enough to build an empire.  _ Keiji _ .”

Chiaki could’ve sworn she hears the newborn repeat ‘Keiji’, his name, after the man but too much has happened in these moments for her to be sure that she isn’t just imagining it. 

The baby glows for a single second that stretches an eternity as the man turns to look at her.

“Look after Keiji for us Chiaki,” the man says, "His destiny is intertwined with your little princeling’s, they will need each other.”

She blinks and he’s gone.

The little baby in the crib is no longer glowing but he is gurgling happily. Chiaki walks over to him. Sees the babe with his bright blue eyes and holds out her pinky for him to grab.

He grasps it happily and she whispers,” Go to sleep Keiji, go to sleep. You were blessed today.”

* * *

After the man, who had to have been a God, Chiaki is sure,has left it takes a while for her to fall asleep.

She keeps tossing and turning, wondering about which deity could have come to bless this little one. This presumably young God, who has yet to come into his own.

The description of the tall man in teal and white fits those belonging to the blue castle’s highest order, those who sit upon the throne and the only deity dressed in those colours is Tooru.

Tooru, God of Calm Waters, most handsome among divinities in many of their tales. Ruthless when angered, persistent and healing, blessed.  _ He _ came to visit her tiny home and named her son, her little fatherless Koutarou, as a  _ princeling _ and told her he was important for the Gods.

It seems impossible, but it feels right. 

Gold eyes belong to those destined for greatness after all.

After these long, winded contemplations she finally falls asleep and she dreams of rising empires and a boisterous river fed by heavy, heavy rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, the next one will show bits of their childhood together.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are children first and she wants them to be so for as long as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter but it is what it is.
> 
> I said this would show bits of their childhood together? I'm a liar, my plans got away from me. Childhood innocence will come eventually, it will just take a bit, please stick around for it.

The two boys grow up together. Side by side. Chiaki watches them and wonders what the Gods have in store for when they finally come of age, but it is many years too early to think about that.

They are children first and she wants them to be so for as long as possible.

* * *

Keiji is the calmer one of the two, staring up at her from his crib with those bright blue eyes that almost look through her, that can see into her soul and take it apart, whenever he wakes up. He giggles and gurgles and clasps her pinky in his tiny hand, holding her tight. Somewhere far away, beyond mortal reach, the Gods watch his movements with rapt attention wondering what this young one will have in store for them.

* * *

At first, his new friend confuses Koutarou. He crawls across the floor and takes shaky steps to peer at the baby that sleeps in the crib he outgrew. Chiaki watches as her son pokes Keiji in the side and Keiji turns to him and grips her boy’s little finger in his tiny hand.

She watches as golden eyes fill with wonder and awe and a smile overtakes Koutarou’s face. He turns to her and points his finger making excited noises as he says, “Mama, look! Look!” and she walks over to him, caressing his dark hair as she giggles and tells him, “I’m looking, Koucchan, I’m looking.”

His innocent excitement is infectious and never fails to bring her joy.

Fate’s Watcher is looking too. He sees the bonds that tie the boys together pulse with heavenly light. He sees destiny make itself cosy in that little home, he sees a future looming over them filled with heavy burdens to bear.

* * *

Time passes quietly, drifting along like fallen leaves in a river. Keiji turns one a few months after Koutarou turns two and the little boy gets a grasp on crawling and babbling quickly. 

Divinity clings to him. Not as obviously as it did Tooru. It doesn’t scream at you, doesn’t show itself in his every movement, but it’s there. Chiaki can see it in his eyes. In the shining cerulean that gazes at her with intelligence far beyond his years, that shifts in colour like a river’s current and glitters in the moonlight like precious sapphire.

Keiji’s celestial origins shine through even before he learns to talk and when he say his first word it draws on both her and her son. It’s like music to their ears and pulls them closer by an invisible string.

His first word is “Kou” and he says it gently, like the slightest drizzle of rain falling into water. Koutarou’s eyes widen when he hears it and from their position next to Keiji’s crib he beams at her and the baby. Laughing as he gives Keiji his hand to hold and smiling wide when the little boy grabs it with both hands.

Koutarou is a boisterous child even at this age. As his motor functions develop and he becomes more aware of himself he’s always crawling and stumbling around. Trying to run and touch and smell everything. His golden eyes take the world in with never-ending curiosity. 

In the evenings after dinner, once Chiaki has put away her fabrics and is settling down with Keiji in her lap, Koutarou tells them the stories he thought of, where he was a hero saving everyone. Sometimes he says he’ll be a king like the ruler of the nation down below, that he’ll make his mother queen and that they’ll live in a golden palace never to be left wanting. In those moments Chiaki pulls him onto her lap with Keiji and so holds him tight. She remembers Tooru calling her son a princeling and says, “Of course, Koucchan, you’re going to be a king someday, I know it.”

* * *

Chiaki takes the boys to town with her once every week. Market days are how she makes her money by selling pottery and tapestries, clothes and other trinkets made in her simple home high up in the mountains. It doesn’t make her much, but it’s enough to feed her and Koutarou and now Keiji too.

It’s a humble life, but it’s good. They have food on the table every day and even though it might not be the meat and fish that the rich can afford it fills.

Chiaki wants both boys to taste the food and experience the warmth of a home and she thinks she’s succeeded. She believes it when Koutarou beams up at her and when Keiji giggles as she carries him around.

One fateful day as she sets up her merchandise in the streets, with Koutarou, newly four-years-old next to her and Keiji sleeping in a basket next to him, a man with hair the same pale silver as moonlight and as soft-looking as dandelion seeds approaches them. His mouth set in a soft scowl, his lips are plump and his skin glows even though the sky is overcast. Chiaki is perplexed by his attire. A purple cloak lined with white feathers screams of wealth, as do the supple leather shoes she can see peeking out from underneath it. His status is further confirmed by his unusual jewellery. Tiny white stones with a faint glow of their own adorn his ears and silver bands, interconnected through sparkling chains, decorate his fingers. She’s uncertain what type of rich man she might be looking at until she meets his gaze.

His eyes are a shining silver. They look through her and into her soul at the same time. Those eyes see who she is now, who she has been and who she will become. They look at her and it’s like hands are caressing her soul, coaxing it into showing all of itself, unveiling all of its hidden depths and secrets. 

As she watches him she realises that these eyes see Fate in its purest form.

Fate’s Watcher is a myth even amongst the Gods. The stories paint him as one who only visits mortals whose extraordinary tales will be told far into the future. He was one of the first Gods and told the tales of how the Sun and Moon came to be. How Tooru met his other half and kept him against all odds. He knows how kingdoms fall and when they’ll rise again. 

She thinks once more of Tooru calling her son a princeling, his destiny being entwined with Keiji’s, and this time the words unsettle her. Those who garner the attention of Fate’s Watcher himself live a life characterised by agony, and although they get their happy endings eventually it feels Pyrrhic every time.

“We will come for him soon,” he says, voice low and emotionless, heavy with the weight of infinite knowledge. She shivers and pulls Koutarou towards her. The man looks at her son and reaches over slowly, projecting his movements as not to startle him. Chiaki wants to pull him away. Drag Koutarou closer to herself and away from this non-human, this divine Seer who mere mortals cower before, but she is frozen in place.

She watches as the man’s fingers brush her son’s forehead and he closes his eyes. She watches as he leans forward and whispers, “Hello, little princeling, there is much in store for you.” She can do nothing but watch as Koutarou’s eyes widen and the man brushes his fingers through her son’s hair, turning the jet black strands pure white and  _ silver _ . A shiver runs down her spine and her hands tremble, she cannot move, she can only sit still and stare as she watches this man mark her son for a future neither of them have knowledge of. 

He then reaches for Keiji, who clasps onto his fingers with enthusiasm. The toddler glows bright enough to force Chiaki’s eyes closed and when she opens them again, the man has disappeared. No one else roaming around the marketplace seemed to have noted the interaction, but Chiaki couldn’t let go of the sense that those silver eyes were observing her and her son with an eagle’s rapt attention.

Keiji’s eyes are bluer than they were before and he looks at her like he knows the secrets of the universe. Like he sees more than she could ever understand. For the first time since she’d taken him in, fear clutches at her heart.

Koutarou tugs at her arm and points to his hair as he pulls at it.

“Look mama, look! The purple man made my hair a different colour, look!”

His excitement is endearing, his voice bubbles with joy, but terror overwhelms Chiaki’s senses. Her lovely boy’s hair is white and silver with the slightest hint of black left and his  _ eyes _ . Those blessed golden eyes are no longer molten and soft, they  _ burn _ like the blazing sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed (please leave a comment or something if you did) and until the next one!
> 
> PS: is anyone willing to take a guess at who Fate's Watcher is??


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under night’s cover, Tooru visits the destined ones up in the mountains for the first time since he gave Keiji his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not fully satisfied with this chapter either but I think I'm doing alright overall. Please enjoy.

Under night’s cover, Tooru visits the destined ones up in the mountains for the first time since he gave Keiji his name. He rises from the ice-cold lake where Keiji was born and makes his way through the surrounding woods. Brown hair hidden by the hood of his white and teal cloak, which blends in with the snow-covered forest floor. The brush parts for him, plants move their snow-covered branches to let him through, and he thanks the forest’s spirits for their kindness. The shrubs rustle with their gratitude.

He has returned to Bokuto Chiaki’s humble abode this full moon, exactly three years since Keiji’s birth, to give him another blessing. Or another burden, if some had to be believed. 

As he parses through the thick woods, he reminisces about his own blessings and hardships, about his rough edges that cut till he learned to exhibit the same tranquility as the waters he is the God of. He had Hajime and many others by his side as he came into his own. He had proper guidance, albeit sporadic; he got the chance for redemption even when he has been wrong many times. He hopes that, with the night’s ritual, Keiji will gain the same opportunities as him. The same room to find himself and make mistakes, to unlock his full potential and prosper without regrets. To come into his own and rule his element without issue.

Eita had told him of his encounter with Bokuto Chiaki, her son and Keiji at the market a few months ago. He’d explained to all of the Gods how the fate of the two mortals and Keiji was still murky but that an unimaginable light shone for their futures.

During the council of Gods he explained that all of them would have to be careful because Keiji would be volatile and harsh, unwavering and rough before he came into his own. They had looked at each other then, from Shouyou and Kei to Daichi and Kiyoko and many others. They had remembered their own rough paths to coming into their own, the blazing heat Shouyou scorched the earth with before he learned how to control his flames. The unruly tides that plagued the lands because of Kei’s temper and therefore the moon’s fluctuating pull. The shattering and tearing of the earth due to Daichi’s lack of steadfastness and the unruly and unsafe oceans because of Kiyoko’s shame and fear. All of them were and are intimately familiar with what happens when you fail to properly use your powers. When you miss your blessings or don’t listen to them. It can make even the most tranquil of Gods unfocused and leave them stumbling around in agony, clutching their head as their element goes wild.

Eita told them that Keiji would be powerful and his path arduous. At his words Tooru shared a glance with Hajime and as one they had realised this one was theirs to take care of, and therefore they would.

Eita told them of Koutarou’s hair which turned white and sterling at Fate’s touch and their eyes had widened because it means loss and grief and _ pain _ . Fate takes pigment from those it likes most but Fate is cruel and being liked by it spells no good. Eita, as Fate’s Watcher, could attest to that.

“I did not show the mother my shock,” he said, voice tight and heavy with burdens none of them could truly understand, “I merely wanted to touch him to gauge his potential, to possibly get a better look at what exactly their future together may be like, however Fate drew my hand to his hair. Parts of it went stark white and others silver, I knew his mother was terrified at the sight and I could not blame her for it. Fate claimed her son in that moment and I’m sorry to tell you that with that one touch their destinies became set. Keiji did not go pale due to his nature but his eyes are sharp as an owl’s and when I looked at him with Fate’s eyes I knew he was staring right back,” he finished retelling his encounter with Keiji and Koutarou in such a manner and Tooru had used those words to propose that he might become Keiji’s mentor and watcher, so he could be the one to track his progress and make sure he stayed on the right path without falling apart like many of them had.

The others had agreed, and they had left it at that. Disbanding the council so they could go off to their respective quarters with their respective partners or friends to ruminate on the information brought to the table. New Gods always emerged in times of need, born in or from that which they will become a god of, their element. But the countries had been peaceful, the lands keeping to themselves or trading. There was no threat of war between them, nor of natural disaster, there was nothing that any of them, not even Eita, could imagine happening to them now. They had no idea of what future hardship may have caused Keiji’s birth, what they might need him for and yet. He was undeniably born and irrevocably tied to Bokuto Koutarou and his golden eyed glory.

These speculations and events led Tooru to where he was now, in front of Chiaki’s door at a time at which any sensible person would be asleep, as was she. The home has a single window at the side of the house, the glass old and brittle but clean. Through it, with a little bit of help from the moon’s silver light, Tooru could see into the home. His vision was partially obscured by the wooden kitchen table but behind that at the opposite wall laid a simple futon where he presumed they slept. The crib that Keiji slept in when they first met was no longer in its spot near the kitchen table because Keiji had most likely outgrown it, instead Tooru caught the edges of a quilt peaking around the table’s legs on which he presumed the two boys slept.

As he took in the interior of the humble home he also put his hand against the glass, testing its strength. Then, as his ruminating concluded itself, he took a deep breath, turning himself into water vapour with an easy born from aeons of practice. One second he was outside the house and the next he stood in front of the kitchen table peering down at the unaware sleepers.

Well, almost unaware. Clear blue eyes gazed at him, shining even though his shadow obscured the moon’s light. Keiji’s eyes seemed wise and full of wonder, and Tooru understood what Eita had meant when he explained how Keiji looked. Behind those eyes knowledge hid, but Tooru could not gauge at what kind or how aware the child himself was of this knowledge.

Keiji took him in for a while. Staring unblinkingly at his teal and white attire, taking him in with some form of uncertainty until Tooru took his hood off and revealed his brown curls. Recognition sparked in the three-year-old’s eyes and his neutral expression turned into a wide smile, showing his gummy teeth and transforming his entire face into angelic happiness.

Tooru drifted around the table, his feet barely touching the floor to avoid waking the mortals, and he crouched down to look at Keiji better. 

Much has changed about the little boy since he had last seen him. His arms and hands had grown so much since Tooru had last taken him in. Tiny legs could be seen through the imprint of the blanket laid over Keiji and Koutarou. His hair had shaped itself into a black curtain made of soft-looking tufts and his face had become bigger to accommodate his features.

“Hello Keiji,” Tooru whispered, and he smiled when the toddler reached out for him at his words. Holding out his pinky finger for Keiji to grip like he had three years ago and Keiji grabbed it with the same enthusiasm he had that very first time.

“Hello, who are you?” Keiji asked, trying to whisper but having it come out too loud. Tooru chuckled at the child’s attempt and patted his head. 

“Try being a little quieter Kei-chan, we don’t want Chiaki-san or Kou-chan to wake up, right?” Keiji nodded his tiny head and Tooru continued, “My name is Tooru, I’m like you little one.”

“Like me?” Keiji asked, quieter this time. 

“Do you sometimes feel something right here,” Tooru put his free hand on Keiji’s abdomen, “when you’re upset or happy or when something nice happens?” Keiji nodded in affirmation once more. “And does your body tingle a little when it happens, do you feel like somewhere far away something is waiting for you to tell it what to do?” 

“Yes,” Keiji whispers.

“It’s because we’re Gods,” Tooru continues, “we’re made from the wishes of the world and nature itself and most of the time we get separated from our source and it wants us to return so it pulls at us, hoping we’ll come back to it. Do you remember where you were born Keiji?” Tooru asks, but the little boy shakes his head, his eyes wide in wonder but also disappointed in his own inability to contribute.

“That’s alright. That’s why I’m here Kei-chan, I’m going to help you remember.”

“Really?” Keiji asks, forgetting his volume once more, voice laced with excitement and wonder.

“Really.” 

Tooru asks the boy to let go of his pinky and he does so reluctantly. Then he brings both his hands to the sides of Keiji’s head, letting his fingers nest themselves in his soft black hair. He leans closer to the boy until their foreheads rest together and tells Keiji to look him in the eyes. Nervousness overtakes the boy’s features, but steely resolve nestles in his eyes as he points his gaze at Tooru and does not blink nor waver. 

Tooru keeps his eyes open as a faint teal glow envelops his body and clothes, it spreads to Keiji the longer Tooru focuses. With the glow comes Tooru’s magic, like calm waves lapping at Keiji’s feet that bring with them knowledge of his heritage and of who he is. 

Tooru lets the magic flow over him and he lets it engulf the boy whose eyes shine blue the more information he gains.

The ritual lasts for no longer than the time it takes to breathe in and out, but to the both of them it’s like hours have passed. With this second blessing of Tooru’s Keiji is now firmly tethered to him. Tooru can feel his presence in his own magic and Keiji is now forever tied to the Gods and his divinity, unable to forsake it. 

Keiji’s eyes well with tears and Tooru wipes them away delicately, brushing under the young boy’s eyes and letting his head go to grip his hands tight.

“I know it’s overwhelming Kei-chan and that it hurts and that you’re confused. The lake you were born from has been hurting without you and now that I’ve connected us together I’ve also connected you to it. You’re  _ divine _ little one, and the magic that holds you together ties you to the lake, and it has  _ missed _ you, so don’t be sad, okay. We’re going to pay it a little visit. Okay?”

And Keiji nods, still in tears. Tooru lifts him out of the bed without making a sound and holds him close to his chest under his cloak. Outside, standing in the unblemished snow, is Hajime. His dark brown spikey hair covered by his hood, wearing the same white and teal cloak as Tooru. Waiting for him as always with his hand outstretched. Tooru takes it and uses the other to hold Keiji tight. Whispering to him in calm tones, telling him not to worry and that the sadness will be over soon, that it will hurt less soon, that he just has to wait a little bit longer.

When they reach the lake, Hajime and Tooru step into it without hesitation. Keiji had become less and less distressed the closer they got to it and he is now breathing calmly against Tooru’s chest, reaching out with his magic to what he recognises as his  _ source _ , his place of origin, his first home.

They submerge themselves completely in the icy water, only illuminated by the moon’s silver beams. Keiji pokes his head out from underneath Tooru’s cloak and floats on his own, still clutching Tooru’s hand tight but with his eyes closed. Floating underwater like he’s soaking in the newness of it all, soaking in the knowledge the water gives him and the warmth it provides despite the harsh winter temperatures.

Hajime squeezes Tooru’s hand and they watch Keiji with delight, because of how quickly he’s taking to his element, to his lifeline, and with that to his godhood. They watch him and they don’t need Eita’s powers to see the brightness of his future. It’s embodied in Keiji’s comfort and the soft pulsing of the water around him.

* * *

That same night, as Keiji gorges himself on magical energy and tries to familiarise himself with these new facets of his identity, Tooru visits Chiaki in her dreams.

* * *

Chiaki’s dream starts underwater. She is cold and clammy surrounded by impenetrable darkness, however she is not afraid. Although it is dark and cold the water feels like home, like the smouldering embers of a comfortable hearth and the warm embrace of family. She floats with her eyes closed and feels herself drifting upwards slowly, like something further below her is pushing her up towards a unique future. Towards the next step.

Her face breaks the surface, and she gasps as she takes in the infinite night sky. Dotted with countless shining stars centred around the bright moon, its silver light illuminating her in the water she floats in. 

Silver rain, almost like stars falling from the skies, surrounds her. The luminous droplets shine with an elegance only celestial bodies have. With an unwavering light only immortals fully possess.

With the rain comes a figure that Chiaki knows well, she’s met him before. Encompassed by a soft teal hue, Tooru floats towards her from the sky dressed in pure white robes, teal lining the edges of the cloth, as it flows behind him. He looks regal and unwavering as he glides towards her. Reaching for her with his long fingers completely stretched to touch her chin softly and tilt her head towards him.

“Look for him, he awaits,” Tooru says, tone authoritative and unquestioning. This is a command, not a request, and Chiaki gasps once more as her body is lifted from the water and the comfort of floating comes to an abrupt end.

“I’ll look,” she says over and over again, unsure of who the ‘him’ in question may be, but intimidated by the power of the Gods to the extent that she’ll agree to anything Tooru has to say. She does not know why the Gods took an interest in her and those she holds dear, but she can’t help but fear for them, for what this may mean for their future.

Tooru smiles at her, pleasant with a twinkle in his eyes, and she falls back into the water. Being submerged in darkness once more.

* * *

Her eyes snap open and she sits up in bed. She looks around her frantically, something’s wrong. Koutarou is clinging to her arm wailing and as she looks at him she realises what problem has arisen.

_ “Look for him.” _

Koutarou clutches her arm in distress and she can only stare at the empty blankets where she had put the two boys to sleep last night.

Keiji is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave a comment, I live off of feedback lmao.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keiji likes being underwater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this take place in Japan? I guess?  
> Is my worldbuilding kind of flimsy? For sure. Am I going to go with this as hard as I can? Definitely.  
> Do I abuse italics? You tell me.

“We will come for him soon,” Fate’s Watcher had told her, and at the time, in the throes of fear, she had thought he’d meant Koutarou. He’d looked at her son, and his golden eyes, and called him “little princeling” and she’d thought this was destiny coming to grab him, to rip him away from her. Instead, it’s  _ Keiji _ who she should’ve been paying attention to.  _ Keiji _ who is a  _ godling  _ who is  _ gone _ .

“ _ Look for him _ .”

He’s _ gone _ .

For a single second that stretches out in front of her like an eternity, Chiaki sits frozen, petrified in her terror and guilt. Then, quicker than the rain when it pours from the sky without mercy, she moves.

She goes through the house like a whirlwind, dressing herself and Koutarou as she checks every nook and cranny for Keiji. For any glimpse of him and where he might be. There is nothing. Nothing to indicate where he went or who might have taken him. 

No clues, nothing left behind.

She tries to remember her dream. Tries to grab at the faint strings of memory, the fleeting apparitions engulfed her not too long ago, but it’s to no avail.

She remembers Tooru descending from the heavens and feeling surrounded by an unfamiliar yet comfortable darkness, but there is nothing else. She forces herself to recall more of the dream, but the harder she tries, the more it runs from her.

_ Silver rain _ and  _ Tooru clutching her chin _ and  _ being submerged. That’s it! _

She exclaims and grabs Koutarou, pulling his coat on and making sure his shoes are pulled tight to protect his feet from the snow outside. 

She’d been underwater in her dream, floating, looking up at the moon. There is one place with water that Keiji has ever been, and therefore that is her only hope. Her only lead.

She readies herself to face the biting cold and checks once more that Koutarou is properly dressed, checking that the button on his cloak is fastened and that there’s no gap between his shoes and the skin of his ankles. He’s calmed down a little by now and she picks him up, letting out a deep breath at his weight. Her boy is four now, and he’s almost becoming too big for her to carry, too heavy for her to bear his weight alone. She wipes his tears and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Hold on tight, Koucchan,” she says, “we’re going to look for Keiji, and he’ll be just fine, okay?” Koutarou nods, hiccuping a few times as fresh tears pour down his cheeks. Chiaki wipes them again and presses a kiss under each of his eyes. His arms grip her tight around her neck and she shifts to accommodate for the little body sat on her hip.

“Keiji is strong,” Chiaki continues, “remember that the man at the market called you a princeling?” Koutarou nods again, “well Keiji is one too, a  _ godling _ even. That means that the two of you belong together and even when he’s lost and you can’t find him for a while, even when you haven’t seen him so long you barely believe he still exists, even then he’s still real and waiting for you. Okay? So I want you to dry your tears and put on a smile so Keiji is happy when we find him, okay?”

“Okay,” Koutarou mumbles, forcing a wobbly smile to appear on his lips. It’s a start and Chiaki runs her fingers through her son’s hair. The discolouration hadn’t disappeared as she had hoped at first. The white and silver strands had remained, regardless of the amount of times she’d washed his hair. It still unsettled her, but she’d come to see it as part of her son’s beauty instead. She loved every part of him, even this.

She kisses his forehead again and boops his nose, smiling to reassure not only him but also herself. He squeezes her tight and Chiaki uses this as her cue to brace herself for the cold.

She opens the door and steps out into the snow, ready to trek back to the lake where she first found the godling with the sky-blue eyes, hoping that she’ll find him there again.

* * *

Keiji likes being underwater.

The water he’s surrounded by is warm even though snow covers the lake’s banks, warm in the same way being with Koutarou and Chiaki is warm. Like arms wrapping themselves around him and whispered secrets when he should be sleeping.

He likes it underwater. He doesn’t want to leave yet.

Tooru had called the water—even closer to the stars than he already was back at the house, staring up at the sky through the tiny window—his  _ source _ . The place he was born.

He can’t remember being born until Tooru told him about it and he hadn’t even remembered the lake. Hadn’t remembered how its waters felt like home, or how he’d lain on the shore till Chiaki-san found him. 

His first memory until not too long ago was of golden eyes, mesmerising him with their luminosity and the warmth of a finger in his hand.

He hopes that someday he can bring Koutarou with him underwater, to show him this same tranquillity Keiji is experiencing now. 

He knows that he’s far below the surface, submerged, unable to see but a sliver of the full moon as he stares upwards, but the darkness he’s surrounded by does not scare him. He moves through the water with ease, he’s a part of the lake and all the life that belongs in it.

Schools of fish and clusters of plants have made the lake their home and the longer Keiji soaks in the water the more aware of them he becomes. He hears their heartbeats and senses them swaying in the water. He greets them and they acknowledge him as a friend.

Before he’d left Tooru told him not to stay underwater too long, to submerge himself and then go back to the surface so he wouldn’t lose his tether to the mortal world. Sleepily Keiji had wondered what would be bad about losing his connection to humanity until Koutarou and Chiaki-san flashed before his eyes and he realised he’d have to say goodbye to them if he never returned to the world above.

He promised Tooru and Hajime he’d go back up soon, and he waved them both goodbye as they left him to connect to his source. Their interlocked hands barely visible because of their cloaks. Before he’d closed his eyes again, to soak a little longer, Keiji had thought that it looked nice to hold someone’s hand like that. To have their fingers alternate with yours, to cage each other’s hands in warmth and golden affection. He wonders whose hand he would hold.

He floats for a while longer, trying to keep in mind that he has to return to the surface eventually, but the water is so  _ warm _ and his source feels like  _ home _ and he doesn’t want to  _ leave _ .

Keiji likes it underwater.

* * *

Chiaki and Koutarou plough through the snow. Clinging onto each other to provide that extra bit of warmth. This arduous path reminds her of the time three years ago when she went up this same mountain with her son, not expecting to find another child at its peak. The difference between then and now is that she’s expecting to find that child, hoping to find that child with her entire heart and soul. She doesn’t want to think about what she’d do if Keiji wasn’t at the lake’s shore. If she called out for him and he did not respond. She wouldn’t be able to face herself, wouldn’t be able to face Koutarou or the Gods with her failure etched into her mind. So instead she clutches her baby tight, tells him to hold on to her, and repeats that they’ll find Keiji like a mantra, trying to drown out her own doubts.

There are no tracks in the snow from anyone who might have come before them, but the supernatural works in strange ways so Chiaki can’t assume that that means no one was there. She keeps walking and the higher up they go the more she feels a strange pull in her gut, like a low hum of warmth tethering her to an entity further ahead.

The closer she gets, the more the pull overtakes her. The keener her awareness that she’s on the right path to finding Keiji, the more her emotions  _ pull _ her towards the lake, as if something precious awaits her there.

She knows it must be Keiji;  _ it has to be _ , when Koutarou starts to feel it too.

“ _ Okaasan _ ,” he says, tugging at her clothes to catch her attention, “Keiji’s waiting for us.” 

“I know,” she replies, “I know.” and the two of them pick up their pace again.

The closer they get to the lake the more urgent they become, as if time is ticking down till the sky breaks open into enormous downpours, lightning and thunder shaking the earth. Till water rushes from everywhere and floods the land. They hurry, hoping to find Keiji, wishing that they’re not too late, although for what they wouldn’t know.

* * *

Her feet are almost frozen when Chiaki recognises the signs of the woods thinning. The snow has soaked through her thin shoes and her feet are so cold they feel warm. Her teeth chatter and Koutarou’s cheek feels cold where it’s pressed against her neck. They shiver together but are determined to reach the shore now that they’re this close.

The trees become shorter till there is only shrubbery left and then in front of her, reflecting the silver light of the full moon, lies the lake in all its tranquil beauty.

She lets out a breath of relief, barely keeping herself from running, knowing that she’d slip and fall in the snow. 

Keiji’s here, she can  _ feel _ it. But she reaches the lake’s shore and does not see him.

Doubt chips at her mind, she begins to worry. Panic broils in her stomach, her footing unstable.

What if her assumption was _ wrong _ ? What if she’d wasted precious time trekking here when she should’ve gone somewhere else? What if, what if,  _ what if _ .

Her breath speeds up as negative scenario after negative scenario overtakes her mind. Where would she go next? Where else could the child be? Who could’ve taken him? What if the pull, that she can still feel throbbing low in her gut, reverberating through her body like the drums they play at the market during festivals, is nothing but a lie, a feeling invented by herself out of sheer desperation? What if the Gods had taken him back to their realm, with no way for Chiaki or Koutarou to reach him? What then?

_ What could she do _ ? A mere mortal involved in the schemes of Gods and Fate, too fickle and powerful for her to influence them, to do anything but be toyed with.

Her thoughts dissolve into chaos the longer she watches the empty shore, overthinking her own decisions and worrying about the young child under her care. 

Koutarou is the one to snap her out of it. Tugging at her clothes and thrashing till she’s forced to let him go.

“What’s the matter, Koutarou? Don’t worry okay, we’ll find him,” she says, voice uneven, but her son ignores her, instead running towards the lake’s edge on short legs. 

She goes to follow him but she’s frozen in place, as if time stood still and Koutarou is the only one impervious to its halting touch.

Koutarou reaches the lake’s edge. He cups his mouth in his hands, like the announcers do at the market and he yells, in a voice filled with anguish and longing, filled with worry and care, he yells, “Keiji!”

And when nothing happens, he yells again.

“Keiji!” A singular note, reverberating through the air and rippling over the lake’s surface. Nothing happens, no one answers, but Koutarou does not let this deter him. He continues to yell and scream until his voice goes hoarse, until he coughs and his eyes tear up and Chiaki is still helpless to do anything, frozen in time.

She listens to her son pour his heart into every shouted syllable of his best friend’s name, and she watches as the universe ignores him.

She wants to close her eyes, so she can no longer look at the heartbreaking sight unfolding in front of her, but is unable to. She cannot move, cannot do anything but watch her precious child scream in anguish.

She does not know how long they were there for. How long Koutarou has been yelling—his voice had gone hoarse early on—when in the middle of the lake the water begins to glow. She cannot determine what has changed, cannot see what might be glowing, but she can see the light expand. She can see it become brighter and brighter until she’s blinded by it and there’s nothing for her to see anymore.

The world goes supernova and when she can see again, Keiji is in Koutarou’s arms. His head pillowed on his shoulders and his arms limp at his side. His eyes are closed, but he’s breathing and she can finally move again. 

She falls to her knees in the snow, sobbing uncontrollably.

* * *

Far away, up higher than the Heavens themselves, Eita watches Fate’s ties pulse. He tries to touch them, to gain an insight into the destiny of these special ones, but the fickle strings burn him when he tries. The element he is supposed to control rejects him.

He tries to touch them again, keeps pushing his hands against the golden light in hopes of a different outcome, but to no avail. His fingers burn and burn and  _ burn _ . Till the tips are charred black and moving them hurts. Till the burn spreads further on his hands and he’s forcing himself to touch it through the pain.

“Please,” he begs, “ _ please _ .” Fate is not supposed to reject him, Fate has given him a home amongst its threads, but it’s keeping secrets now, shunning him and refusing to show him the things he wants to know.

He reaches both his hands towards the line, intent to touch them and glimpse the future.

_ A flash of water, a torrent of rain as far as the eye can see. _

The threads reject him forcefully. He is thrown across his quarters and lands in a heap with his back against the door. The back of his head knocks against it painfully and he stays there, dazed.

His hands and underarms are charred, completely black, but he cannot feel them. As if through a haze he can see the golden strings hovering at his desk, coiling in on themselves like snakes ready to attack. He cannot take his eyes off of them.

Satori finds him like that and carefully carries him to their bed. Bandaging his arms and hands and speeding up the healing process with the help of magic. Injuries sustained through their elements don’t heal as quick as others do, it is a punishment for overstepping their bounds.

Satori strokes his cheek to reassure him, singing to him softly as he is soothed. Eita closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.

He will think about these matters more in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and maybe consider leaving that sweet sweet comment, thanks. Stay strong and I hope you have a relatively decent summer, as much as that is possible at least, with the current circumstances.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that first time, Keiji’s disappearances became a regular occurrence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for the comments, I appreciate them.  
> Either way I'm here just to say that there won't be a new chapter next week, I'll be on vacation and won't be taking my laptop with me.  
> Please enjoy this chapter (longer than normal) as a consolation prize!

After that first time, Keiji’s disappearances became a regular occurrence. On the nights of the full moon, he is sure to be found soaking in the waters of his lake, sunken all the way to the bottom, undetectable. 

The first few times Koutarou and Chiaki go to bring him home together. They trek up the mountain and call out his name till their voices are hoarse and then finally, finally Keiji will emerge from the water. Dazed and hanging off of them, as if there’s no strength left in his body. As if, if he’d waited any longer, he’d become one with the water.

Chiaki wonders how Keiji gets to the lake each time. He’s three and a half and unsteady on his feet. Koutarou, who is about a year older, still has trouble with the lengthy walk even though he insists that she does not have to carry him anymore. 

One night she decides to stay awake to see what might occur. She lays in her bed with her eyes closed, feigning sleep as the night becomes darker and darker. She opens her eyes when she hears a soft scuttling noise. She covers her face with her blanket, but she can still make out the glowing teal silhouette of a man, bent over the quilt on which Keiji and Koutarou sleep. She watches him as he stands up with Keiji in his arms, his little head resting on the man’s shoulder. The white cloak alerts her to this man’s affinity to Tooru, but he is not him, his skin too dark and his hair too spiky. Keiji does not flinch away from him, however. It’s almost as if the little boy burrows into the man’s body even closer, and Chiaki tries to ignore the hand that squeezes her heart at the sight. 

She’s always known that Keiji wasn’t hers to keep, mortals hold no standing amongst Gods, but she cared for him and looked at him as a second son. That night confronted her with how insignificant her and Koutarou were compared to the aeons Keiji had stretching out in front of him.

She watches as the man takes Keiji with him, disappearing through the unopened door. Moments before the two have completely phased through the wood, the man turns his head. His brown eyes bore into hers, but his gaze is kind. 

It reminds her that Keiji will return to them even though they’ve taken him.

She falls asleep soon after the two have left, breathing evening out without much trouble. She is no longer afraid.

* * *

The end of winter approaches slow. Snow melting under the sun until even the last remnants of dampness have evaporated and the green grass reappears.

Koutarou and Keiji spent their days outdoors, in the clearing around the house. Chiaki watches the two boys as they frolic around. Playing games of tag and catching bugs. They’ve started collecting leaves and bringing them over for her to dry, and with that has come a fascination with flowers.

She’d shown the two boys her collection of pressed flowers one night, the ones she pressed into the fabrics she wove, and they had spent all evening asking her for their names. She’d pointed them out with pleasure. Going from the Camilia with its deep pink petals and yellow stamen to the purple-blue Fringed Iris, with its frayed looking petals and watery colouring.

Koutarou’s favourite flower ended up being the Lacecap Hydrangea, its small blue dot-like clusters surrounded by soft purple decorative petals enamoured Koutarou the moment he laid his eyes on them. 

He kept glancing from the flowers to Keiji without saying a word, but his joy was so clear it was almost palpable.

Keiji liked the Amur Adonis the best, with its bright yellow, almost golden blooms. He pressed his fingers against the plant’s outline on the cloth and let his eyes linger, captivated by their auspicious shine.

As they scavenge the grass in the clearing for fallen leaves, the two boys are also on the lookout for any flowers they might come across. Exclaiming in joy as they discover the pastel coloured plants.

The days pass uneventfully, tranquil, hulled in blooming flowers and spring’s youthful glow.

Chiaki watches the children as they continue to grow and it fills her with warmth.

* * *

Koutarou doesn’t like the full moon. It’s always the full moon that takes Keiji away from him. Takes him from under the covers where they sleep next to each other, holding hands so neither of them can leave without the other knowing. Even though Koutarou makes sure to hold Keiji’s hand extra tight on the nights of the full moon, he still wakes up alone. The spot on the quilt next to him still has the shape of Keiji’s little body in it, but the cloth is cold.

Koutarou has woken up alone enough times by now to know that it’s nothing to worry about, but seeing the empty bed still makes his stomach feel funny. He doesn’t know why. 

He’s going to be five soon, and because it’s summer his  _ okaasan _ allows him to go pick up Keiji from the lake all on his own. He wasn’t allowed to do that at first, and  _ okaasan _ still plans on going with him once the days get colder and darker again but now the sun wakes up before they do and the air is warm and comfortable and none of the shadows in the forest are scary. So Koutarou is allowed to go on his own. 

He dresses himself quickly, tying his  _ yukata _ with having to ask for help. _ Okaasan _ taught him and Keiji how to dress themselves a while ago, but Keiji still needs help sometimes, Koutarou can do it himself. 

He likes it when Keiji tells him he did a good job. Keiji’s always timid and shy when they go to the markets or when they’re sitting with  _ okaasan _ at night before they go to bed. He’s only ever loud when he plays with Koutarou, smiling wide and sometimes, when Koutarou did something particularly funny, he’d laugh. The sound is soft like rain on water, but ripples through Koutarou’s soul all the same.

Koutarou pulls on his sandals and runs over to the bed where mama is still asleep. He shakes her till she stirs, and she ruffles his hair with a tired hand.

“Good morning Koucchan,” she mumbles as she half lifts him into the bed. Koutarou climbs the rest of the way and snuggles into his mother, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Good morning  _ okaasan _ ,” he whispers as not to disturb her too much. One of his mother’s arms wraps itself around him and he lets her hold him for a few moments. He wonders if this is what it feels like when Keiji is at the bottom of the lake, a mother’s warm embrace.

“I’m going to get Keiji,” he tells her and she nods, bleary as she tells him to come back soon. 

He makes his way out from under her arms with care before leaving the house, on his way to bring his best friend home once more.

* * *

The walk to the lake doesn’t take as long in summer as it did in winter. The mountainside is much more manoeuvrable without the snow, and Koutarou tries to enjoy his monthly treks to higher ground. He pays close attention to his surroundings and plucks flowers Keiji might like, gathering the blooms in his hands so he has something to give him once he returns.

He doesn’t always find nice flowers, sometimes they’re already wilted or animals have trampled them. Petals crumbled and see-through and spread out around the flower’s heart. Koutarou hates it whenever he finds dead flowers, or trampled ones. The flowers are pretty, like Keiji is, and pretty things need to live forever.

This particular morning as he tracks up the mountain with the morning sun rising behind him, he finds Amur Adonis near tree trunks and in the grass. The flowers trail his entire path up the mountain, too many golden-yellow blooms for Koutarou to carry all on his own. He’s careful with their prickly stems and tries to only pluck the blooms, it doesn’t work out perfectly but by the time Koutarou reaches Keiji’s lake he’s got his arms full with them.

Although Koutarou has visited the lake many times in these past months, he is still mesmerised by its beauty. Its shores are made of grass that slowly turns into a stone ridge that stretches further than Koutarou can see. He doesn’t know what the opposite shore of the lake looks like, it’s too big for him to see it from where he’s stood and the slightest layer of mist obscures his view of the other side of the lake even further. 

The water itself is opaque. A deep dark blue that reflects light like the shiny silver cups some of the travelling traders sell at the market. When Koutarou looks into the water his reflection stares back, almost indistinguishable from himself, if not for the faint ripples that continuously distort it.

He lays the flowers down at the water’s edge, just out of its reach, so it cannot grab them, and he bends himself over the water again, staring at his reflection.

His hair is down, reaching his ears and covering his forehead with white, black and silver strands. He touches his hair carefully and watches his reflection do the same. He tugs at a pluck of silver and white hair and flinches a little as his scalp stings. He knows he wasn’t born with multi-coloured hair, but he likes his hair like this. Golden eyes and monochrome hair to go along with heavenly blue and soft brown.

Koutarou looks away from his reflection, staring out over the lake instead. Most of the time he has to call out for Keiji when he’s arrived, but sometimes he can already see the telltale silver light that signals that Keiji is about to resurface. On those mornings all he has to do is wait for Keiji to walk onto the shore and collapse in his arms. Ready to be taken home.

This morning there is no silver glow, and therefore Koutarou prepares himself to call out.

He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes in deep, about to yell Keiji’s name when a strong gust of wind knocks him off balance. Scattering the flowers he’d collected that morning and pushing a few closer to the water’s edge. The blooms were close enough that the water could lap them up, and Koutarou watched forlornly as they drifted away from him. He wanted to reach out for the flowers, to grab the blooms back so he could show all the ones he collected to Keiji, but his mother had forbidden him from going in the water.

But they were barely away from the shore, if he crawled just a little bit closer and reached his hand out just a little bit, he could grab them back out without falling in or touching the water at all, and his mum had said that the water was shallow at the shore before and Koutarou was already a big boy. He could definitely come above the water a little, right?

The decision was made before he could really think about it, and Koutarou walked into the water to grab the flowers.

The golden blooms were getting further away from him so he sped up a little, unsteady on the sandy underground. He exclaimed triumphantly as he grabbed one flower, reaching for the others and just missing them. He cradled the wet clump of petals to his chest and took a step further to grab the others.

One step too far it seems because the underground changed, tilting down steeply and becoming more slick and slippery. Koutarou’s feet slipped, and he fell backwards, arms flailing to keep himself balanced.

His back hits the water and Koutarou is enveloped by the lake. The waters are shallow, but in his panic he’s unsure which way is up and which way is down. He continues to flail until he’s pulled further underwater, an invisible force is tugging him further into the lake. 

He tries to claw at the sandy underground, hoping to reach the shore again, but his attempts are futile.

Koutarou closes his eyes as his lungs burn from lack of oxygen. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He should’ve listened to his mum and stayed away from the water. He just wanted to give Keiji something nice and now he might never see him again.

* * *

Devastation sweeps through him in waves as he’s dragged further and further underwater.

He’s waiting for the moment his lungs give out and water will enter his body, but it does not come. 

He opens his mouth just a little, expecting water to rush in, but nothing happens. He flails his arms around once more and opens his eyes, first just a sliver, and then he blinks them wide open. Taking in his surroundings in wonder. He is surrounded by a faint blue glow. It covers his entire body and provides a barrier between him and the hostile water.

From above the lake looks dark and impenetrable, but from within it’s a blue paradise.

As Koutarou is further dragged underwater, towards the bottom of the lake, he takes in the myriad of plants he sees. Swaying softly due to his movements and those of the fish he can see flitting past. He passes small schools of fish, close enough for him to reach out and stroke their scales, and as he tries they swim away from him, scared. 

As Koutarou’s descent into the lake continues, he looks at where he’s being tugged. Connected to his foot, like a rope, is a thick blue band that trails further down into the lake. A glow emits from it and although it looks like it’s tied tight, Koutarou can’t feel it, regardless of how much he shakes his foot. He can’t move away from the rope, can’t untie it or anything of the sort. He’s just stuck with it as it drags him downwards.

Before he knows it, the water becomes darker and harder to see through. The fish become fewer and the plants dull, their colours fading into a muddy dark green.

But there at the bottom of the lake is that telltale silver glow, the silver glow he’s become familiar with these past months, the silver glow that’s a sure sign of Keiji when it concerns these waters.

Even underwater the glow is strong enough to hurt Koutarou’s eyes. Keiji’s silhouette is barely discernible because of the light. His features brightened to the extent that their colour is unclear. He looks ethereal, bathed in light, and Koutarou is mesmerised. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the sight as he is dragged closer and closer to Keiji. Even once his eyes start to hurt due to the sheer brightness of it he does not let them stray. He watches Keiji like he’s the world.

The rope pulls him along and drops him on the lake’s floor, directly in front of Keiji, delicately without stirring up any of the sand.

Keiji’s glow has lessened now that Koutarou is right in front of him. It fades little by little until Koutarou can recognise him again. His hair floats around his head and his clothes too look like they’re drifting in an imaginary breeze. Even though Keiji’s no longer glowing and Koutarou is right in front of him, his eyes remain closed.

Koutarou is unsure of what to do next, unsettled by this underwater world in which Keiji is the only familiar light. He tries to get closer to the other boy but finds himself unable to move from his spot; he is tethered to the ground and knows that Keiji is the only one who can resurface the both of them. 

Something within him, some primal human instinct warns him against tempting fate again and opening his mouth but on his way down he could without issue, so why not try it again?

He opens his mouth just a fraction and when no water rushes in, he opens it further. He tries to make a sound and the softest little “Ah,” leaves his lips.

It’s enough for Koutarou.

He cups his hands around his mouth like he would if he were standing on the shore, waiting for Keiji to return to him.

“Keiji,” he yells and when that does not stir his best friend he does it again. Until his voice becomes hoarse and his mind desperate. Until his body trembles with the realisation that he is standing on the bottom of a vast lake, of which he has never seen the opposite shore, with thousands of metres of water above him.

He calls out again, more desperate and after that with fear creeping into his voice little by little. 

Koutarou knows there’s no reason for him to be afraid, no reason for him to be afraid when his best friend is right there. Keiji might be younger than him but his mum had told him, late at night when Keiji’s eyes were already closed and he’d left for dreamland, that Keiji was  _ special _ . A little God waiting to come into his own and Koutarou, unfamiliar with the divine, could still perceive it in his friend.

Even now as he desperately called Keiji’s name he recognised divinity in him. In the shiny black of his hair, in his delicate round face. In his closed eyes and every line of his body. The way in which his hands ball, and how he floats above the ocean floor. 

Keiji’s being, although young and small,  _ screams _ of divinity and Koutarou yells his name at him, hoping that he can harness that divinity, that  _ magic _ , for long enough to get his best friend to wake up.

He’s not sure what changes then, if something from the surface disturbs the water just so that Keiji becomes more perceptive, if it’s in his own desperation which has finally reached its peak. If it’s his observations, his acknowledgement of divinity in front of him. If it’s something in his voice that betrays a depth of feeling Koutarou himself is still unaware of.

He’s not sure what it is in that moment—and he won’t ever be sure, as long as he lives—but the next time he calls Keiji’s name is different. Because Koutarou calls out to him.

“ _ Keiji _ ,” he says, voice cracking in his desperate plea, and Keiji’s eyes open.

A blazing sapphire blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter and if you did consider leaving a comment.  
> See ya in in two weeks!


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Koucchan,” Keiji says, surprised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hello welcome back to This
> 
> If anyone was wondering: My holiday was very nice, I enjoyed it a lot. The Spanish weather is Hot as Fuck but I return rejuvenated and with new fic ideas so yeah.  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it's still a bit slower but y'know the kids gotta grow up just a little bit.

“Koucchan,” Keiji says, surprised. 

He takes in his surroundings, his head snapping back to look at Koutarou once he registers that he’s still underwater. The confusion in his eyes is almost palpable, and with it a barely hidden fear. As if he has no clue how this could happen, and he’s worried about what it might mean. 

Koutarou waves at him, and it knocks Keiji out of his trance. Keiji floats towards him and clamps onto his arm, resting his head on Koutarou’s shoulder.

“How did you get here?” he asks and Koutarou shrugs. Now that Keiji is awake and close to him he’s calmed down a lot, he’s less afraid of the water, of what it might hold, or if he can make it back home or not. 

“I was just following the flowers,” Koutarou says, soft as a whisper, “and I fell into the water and before I knew it I was under and being dragged down here.”

“I’m sorry,” Keiji says, his voice shaking a little. There’s guilt in his tone, as if he believes himself to be responsible for this. Koutarou pulls him closer and wraps his arms around him, holding Keiji close to his chest. His ear over his heart. Hoping that the sound of his steady heartbeat will calm his mind and ease his conscience.

“It’s okay,” Koutarou reassures, “it was a little scary at first but you’re here so I’m not afraid anymore.”

Keiji looks up at him in wonder, childlike innocence in his eyes. It’s rare for Keiji not to be the more level-headed of their duo, but Koutarou likes taking care of him. He strokes Keiji’s hair and pats his cheek, marvelling at how none of it feels wet at all.

It looks like Keiji is underwater, his hair drifts upwards and the water around them moves when he does, but nothing gets wet. Koutarou wonders if he looks the same because he can’t imagine it.

Keiji looks otherworldly, with floating hair and those blue, blue eyes. But his skin is as smooth as it is when Koutarou touches it above water, his hair is as soft as when Koutarou runs his hands through it when they’re laying down in the clearing. The setting might be different, but Keiji is still familiar, Keiji is still the same.

“What happened with the flowers?” Keiji asks, moving a little until he’s sat more comfortably in Koutarou’s lap. His side pressed close to Koutarou’s front, his ear still over Koutarou’s heart even as he looks up at him.

“I found the ones you like, the yellow ones,” he says, and Keiji’s eyes widen. “I put them on the shore so I could give them to you, but they fell in the water. And  _ Okaasan _ had said that I shouldn’t go in the water because I can’t swim but the flowers hadn’t gone far… so I wanted to get them for you,” Koutarou averts his gaze, ashamed, “But I fell, and now I’m here.”

Keiji reaches upwards, and puts both of his chubby toddler hands on Koutarou’s cheeks, turning his head back until they lock eyes again. The touch is feather-light, yet comforting. Koutarou leans into it and lets Keiji caress his cheeks. The steady repetitive movements calm his worried spirit.

Slowly, he leans his head down until it rests on top of Keiji’s. 

They’re cocooned together at the bottom of the lake. Keiji sat in Koutarou’s lap, wrapped in his arms, with Koutarou’s head on his own. Sheltered from anything that might hurt them.

* * *

Tooru and Hajime keep watch over the two boys at the bottom of the lake. They are not in danger. The source never hurts what is made from it, nor does it hurt those who the Gods care about.

“They remind me of us, just a little,” Tooru says. “Innocent in their childhood and living life orbiting around each other.” He strokes Hajime’s hand, letting their fingers slide together and intertwining them. Hajime squeezes his hand in comfort and pulls Tooru into his side.

“Don’t get gloomy on me, Tooru,” Hajime grumbles. “Just because they remind you of us doesn’t mean they will be steeped in tragedy. Maybe their story is an uncomplicated one,” he proposes, but both of them know this won’t be the case.

Koutarou’s hair is white and silver, Keiji’s eyes blaze blue. Even they, uninitiated in the ways of destiny, can see how Fate has wrapped its golden thread around both boys and is slowly cocooning them in, with no viable escape.

“I hope so,” Tooru says, leaning into Hajime’s side.

“Me too.”

* * *

Neither one of the boys knows how long they’ve been cocooned together. The waters surrounding them went ignored due to their proximity. The warmth that the other’s presence brought overshadowing the strangeness of their setting. Their own closeness captivated them with visions of golden flowers drifting along the top of an endless lake and floating underwater until a familiar voice calls you home. With the knowledge of divinity within arm’s reach and taking pride in anchoring someone to their humanity. 

The places where they touch each other glow with hints of deep blue and silver. They are hyper-aware of the other’s presence. Of the way Koutarou’s breath ghosts along Keiji’s face, the way Keiji’s shoulders twitch and his toes move against Koutarou’s legs. The way Koutarou’s heartbeat is strong and steady, a reminder of him being present beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

They are lost in the tenderness of touch, as only young children can be. Separated from the rest of the world.

Although the two boys are beyond content in the water, the surface calls them.

Koutarou is the first to feel the pull of the surface. Maybe because the universe knows that he does not belong in the lake as Keiji does. Maybe it’s because the lake wants nothing but the divine at its heart. Whichever reason it may be, Koutarou stirs first.

It’s like waking up from a long nap. Bleary-eyed and still tired, Koutarou blinks his eyes open. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten where he is. As if he’s forgotten that he is holding Keiji at the bottom of a lake, at the bottom of his lake. He takes in his surroundings like he’s seeing them for the first time. Marvelling at the plants and the small schools of fish, marvelling at the darkness of the sand and the blue sheen of the water. Marvelling, most of all, at Keiji, resting against his chest, surreal in his beauty.

Children possess an honesty that they grow out of as they become older, with that childlike honesty Koutarou can now whisper, awed, “You’re pretty.”

Pretty, his  _ Okaasan _ has taught him, is a word reserved for flowers and the moon in the middle of the night. A word reserved for constellations and a forest covered in freshly fallen snow. Pretty is untouchable. It’s intangible. It sticks to things and wraps itself around them until all you can do is stare in wonder, asking the universe how you could’ve gotten so lucky as to be alive at the same time as this marvel. 

If that is what pretty means, Koutarou feels like adding to the definition. At age five Koutarou realises that he wants to add Keiji, in this half-asleep state, to that definition.

Koutarou is caught off guard by the beauty of the boy in his arms, but the pull, which tugs at his stomach and leaves it unsettled, doesn’t stall. It becomes more urgent the longer Koutarou ignores it. Becomes more irritating, like a scab or an itch you can’t quite reach. Although the pull becomes more and more unpleasant Koutarou is unwilling to heed it, unwilling to wake Keiji, because he knows that’s what the sensation wants from him. 

It’s pulling him towards the surface and Koutarou does not yet want to go. 

The agony creeps up slow, and he wants to stay strong and let Keiji rest, he  _ wants _ to hold still and not let the pain get to him but Koutarou is five years old and children are not well versed in the ways of pain yet. Therefore, he caves and slowly shakes Keiji, wishing that if he has to wake him, he can at least do so gently, the same way you fall asleep. 

“Keiji,” Koutarou whispers, right next to his ear, and unlike the many other times Koutarou has called for him, Keiji awakens immediately.

He glances around, his eyes a luminescent blue, that lights the darkness. They’re so bright that Koutarou can’t look at them but still feels seen through when they’re not looking at him at all.

Koutarou can feel Keiji looking around, can feel how the other boy re-acclimates to his surroundings, and he hears him let out the faintest whisper, the lowest breath, he whispers “Oh,” and Koutarou knows that Keiji feels the pull too.

“I don’t want to go back up yet,” Keiji says and Koutarou hums in assent. He doesn’t want to go back up yet either.

It’s not that being underwater was more interesting than being on the surface. It’s not that being underwater was somehow more thrilling, or that he had more fun with Keiji here than above. It has nothing to do with those things, none at all.

Koutarou, although he’d been scared at first, wants to stay underwater, wants to stay with Keiji, because he’s realised that the water is  _ warm _ . It’s a little scary at first, a little disconcerting. At first the water engulfs you and you’re worried that you’re never going back to where you belong, to where you’re supposed to be. But Keiji had seen him, Keiji had let Koutarou hold him, and his erratic heart had calmed.

Fear had bled out of his body the longer he held Keiji, and warmth had taken its place.

Koutarou likes it underwater. He likes being with Keiji in this place the other boy will surely call ‘home’.

Koutarou doesn’t want to go yet but the pull, agonizing, like a fishhook stuck in his stomach, tells him otherwise and he isn’t strong enough yet to defy the world, so he caves and asks, “Can we go back up?” because he knows Keiji feels it too and that Keiji can’t deny him.

They appear back on the shore in a blaze of silver light. The lake spits the two boys out on the shore and they each go boneless, collapsing on top of each other in a heap.

The sun is high above the horizon, it burns hot and bright, which will become less and less common as the weeks go by. 

They’ve landed amongst Koutarou’s yellow flowers, surrounded by golden petals, that almost seem like they’re made of real gold in the sun’s light.

The two boys are flat on their stomachs facing each other, bleary-eyed and tired.

“Pretty,” Keiji mumbles with a smile and Koutarou’s heart beats a little louder in his chest.

They’re both too tired to move. Normally Koutarou would carry Keiji home, but he can’t even stand on his own two feet. They do inch their hands towards each other. Getting dirt stuck under their nails and pollen across their arms, crushing the soft yellow petals with sluggish movements until they clasp their tiny hands, fingers firmly intertwined.

Both boys smile at each other, eyes half-closed and basking in the sun. To them, the world is at peace. The universe aligned with them at its centre.

They are unaware of a mother’s worry as she rushes up the mountain. Unaware that Fate ties itself even closer to them, strengthened by their clasped hands, even as Fate’s watcher tries to have it loosen its grip.

They are blissfully ignorant in their youth, in their naivety and their childlike innocence.

How long, the Gods, watching them from the heavens, wonder, will it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, leave a comment if you did, and I'll see you next week!


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate does not let the Gods look at its plans yet, but it lies dormant, its threads not yet moving to pull them every which way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hello, technically it's past midnight so i've broken my update schedule by posting on a Tuesday instead but like who's really keeping track.  
> (also also also, I definitely didn't y'know figure out that I've been using Faith instead of Fate this entire fic and then frantically fixed it this weekend, like I did No Such Thing You Can't Prove it hahahahahahahahah [I will never recover])
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoy this chapter and see ya next week!

Chiaki trusts her son. He’s only five, but he’s smart and responsible. He knows his way around the woods and he heeds her advice. That’s why she entrusts him with picking Keiji up the morning after the full moon, but only in summers.

Normally Koutarou returns home no more than an hour or two after he’s gone off to retrieve his best friend. The boys are always back home in time for lunch, Keiji exhausted and draped across Koutarou’s back and Koutarou tired from carrying him all the way home and hungry. 

Today the sun reaches its peak and bears down upon her with its harsh summer light. Makes her brow sweat and her throat dry, and yet her boys do not come home. She tells herself not to worry because it’s happened before that Koutarou is a little later than expected. Sometimes he rests with Keiji along the way, and they watch the sunlight filter through the trees until they feel more rested. On those days she can hear both boys coming from afar, their footsteps accompanied by the sounds of snapping branches. They come home to her with enthusiasm and she welcomes them with open arms and a light scolding. For worrying her and not coming straight home. 

Chiaki has gotten used to her boys being late, to them coming home as the sun is already a quarter through the sky, flush on their cheeks and laughing, or sleepy with Keiji’s arms around Koutarou’s neck and Koutarou holding his legs tight so he doesn’t slide down.

Her boys are late sometimes, but never this late. They are always home before lunchtime. Sometimes they arrive right as she’s about to start cooking, sometimes when she’s setting out a blanket in the backyard and has yet to prepare any food but today the food is cooked and the blanket laid out and yet her boys are not home.

Chiaki decides to wait just a little longer, just a moment, to give them the benefit of the doubt. She tries to eat, but worry has made her lose her appetite. She keeps peering into the woods, hoping that by some miracle the boys will suddenly appear before her. 

Nothing happens.

She leaves her plate unfinished and puts the food back inside, covering the bowls with a cloth so flies won’t be attracted to it. She cleans up the plates and the blanket and tells herself that once everything is finished, her boys will be back with her.

She folds the last corner of the blanket, pulls it tight and makes sure that the crease is sharp, but even as she puts it back in its proper place her boys do not come home.

The sun blazes bright above her. Its warmth is harsh, suffocating almost. Chiaki is forced to cover her eyes as she peers into the woods, her throat is dry as parchment and rough. When she tries to make a sound nothing but a harsh croak comes out. It scrapes the inside of her throat and mouth and she doubles over coughing, hurt by this misplaced breath, this attempt at what? Calling out to the heavens? Asking the gods where her boys are and why it has to be  _ their _ destiny that is so grand? Why it has to be  _ her _ Koutarou and Keiji who are marked for great goods and even greater sorrows? Why Fate has to cling to their tiny bodies, why Destiny has to cocoon them? Is it not enough simply to be born? Is it not enough to exist with the best intentions and the simple knowledge that the future is uncertain, but tomorrow can always be better than today?

The sun still blazes high above her, it still bears down upon her and makes her throat dry, but Chiaki steels herself. 

These are  _ her _ boys, these are the boys she chose to raise, that she has taken in, they are her flesh and blood because she has declared it so.

She wipes her eyes and grabs a bag, filling it with food and water. Then she goes off, rushing to find her two boys. Rushing towards them as the universe reels her closer, a thread spun fast and tight.

* * *

“These things are never fair,” Eita sighs, his face buried in Satori’s chest. They’re in their chamber, cuddled together on their bed. Satori’s fingers run through Eita’s hair, soothing his lover with the soft caresses. 

Eita’s arms are almost healed, it’s just the tips of his fingers that still look like burnt wood and ash. It does not hurt to use them but he can’t feel anything with them and without the ability to touch he can’t gauge the threads of Fate.

Eita knows that this is the threads’ way of punishing him. He pried into things he is not allowed to see yet, and when they gently told him to mind himself, he forced his way in. It’s only natural that he would get burned in that case, it’s only natural that he would be hurt and removed from them to learn his lesson. 

Fate has brought him up, has seen him grow and flourish, has let him drink from it to sustain himself and therefore Fate is right to take from him when he acts like an insolent child. Eita should be grateful that he was selected to become Fate’s guardian all those millennia ago, he should be grateful that his hair went silver—almost,  _ almost _ white—when he drank the sacred liquid. He should be grateful to be worshipped, grateful to have stories told about him and to have made a home for himself among the rest of the pantheon, and yet. Thinking about little Koutarou and Keiji he is reminded that even with all that he has accomplished Fate is never fair.

“Fairness is too much to ask from something as fickle as Fate,” Satori tells him and Eita closes his eyes. Listens to the reassuring thump of his heartbeat and lets himself drift just a little, just a moment.

“Was it hard for you, when they found you that first time?” Eita asks him and Satori lets out a low chuckle. He does not deign Eita with an answer, instead, he presses a soft kiss to his forehead, then his nose, his cheeks and finally his mouth.

The answer is in how his hands tremble ever so slightly. The answer is in the slightest quickening of his breath, it’s in the look Eita sees in his eyes sometimes when he wakes up from a nightmare.

Satori may not say it, but he knows too.

_ These things are never fair and mortals, with their small insignificant lifespans, are  _ **_always_ ** _ afraid. _

Neither Eita nor Satoi knows much about Keiji’s future. Fate does not wish to inform Eita yet, and the spirits that Satori communicates with are fickle as a flame on a windy night. They flicker in and out and their knowledge is uncertain, always only half truth and half lie.

It’s uncommon for the two of them, played by Destiny and Fate like strings, not to know what is to come. They have been relegated to the abyss of the unknowing, like mortals and the other gods. Because Koutarou is liked by Fate and Keiji is special, and the two of them were insolent for even thinking about knowing more than the universe was willing to give.

They stare into a black gaping abyss, only seeing ahead as far as the next step, and it’s as if their godhood itself has been tainted.

“I love you,” Satori whispers, and it’s more than three words. It’s a promise kept through the aeons, a vow, a bright golden thread. A promise of companionship through immortality and whatever lies beyond that. It’s worry about their position, about the state of the lands and their own safety, the safety of the others too.

“I love you too,” Eita replies, and they are cocooned by these words. They let themselves pretend that the safety of them is a barrier between them at whatever else the universe might have in store.

* * *

“Eita and Satori can’t see anymore,” Hajime tells Tooru like it’s a simple thing and not the world as they know it tilting on its axis. 

“They believe it’s punishment and temporary. That they will be able to see again once Eita’s fingertips heal.”

“And when will that be?” Tooru asks an undercurrent of despair in his tone.

“A month, maybe two,” Hajime says. He can’t look his love in the eye in this moment, too sure of what Tooru will look like. His face contorted by worry and fear, his eyes shiny and mouth down-turned. His expression overtaken by anguish over a future none of them can predict.

“And what will happen after that Hajime?” Tooru asks. “What will happen when Eita tries to look again and Fate decides that turning his arms to charcoal is not enough? What if it strikes back and tells him he is no longer worthy? What if it punishes not him but Keiji and Koutarou because we tried to meddle where we were not wanted? What if Satori’s beasts and spirits refuse to heed his words, refuse to listen to his calls, and are set loose upon the world? Nothing good can come of this.” Tooru’s voice is haggard, fear woven through his every word, worry too. For a godling who is at the start of his never-ending life and a boy who will be king someday. 

Hajime pulls him close, knowing that in these moments Tooru needs a sturdy grip on his shoulder. A calloused hand in his own, warm breath on his skin. Hajime is the beginning, the birth of many rivers and brooks. The two of them have always slotted together like perfectly cut pieces, like animals from the same species, flowers grown on the same branch.

Tooru does not fall apart easily, he is stronger than Hajime, stronger than most, but he recognises himself in Keiji. Sees Hajime, before he went by just his first name, in Koutarou and an icy hand clamps around his heart.

Their origins had been hard beyond belief, had been harsh yet filled with devotion to each other, and that had got them through. Fate had toyed with them because Tooru was a God and Hajime had the audacity to be a human child insistent on sticking by his side forever. Fate had tried in many different ways to tear them away from each other. To make their lives miserable, but they had put their heels in the sand and clung to each other even as everything familiar crumbled around them.

Hajime knows that Tooru looks at Keiji and Koutarou and wonders if the bond they have will prevail or if endless strain, caused by being loved by Fate more than even its Watcher was, would break the rope tying them together until all that’s left is a fragile thread, broken by the slightest caress of a fingernail.

“They’ll be fine Tooru,” Hajime reassures, “as long as she’s there. She won’t let anything tear them away from her nor from each other.”

* * *

Chiaki can’t remember the trek up the mountain at all. The urgency she felt, low in her stomach, harsh enough to make her eyes tear up, reminded her of the very first time. The cold of that winter night, the fear that coursed through her body, is grafted into her memories. She is incapable of escaping it and remembers on every full moon, with every hint of snow, when the darkness falls.

She had promised herself not to feel that fear again. To do well instead. To protect both her boys and make sure they were safe. Yet here she is, a little over a year later, walking up that same mountain, feeling like she’s crumbling to pieces, again.

She hurries and rushes forwards. Steps speeding up as she tries to keep her balance on the uneven underground, filled with tripping hazards. Her thoughts go wild with every potential catastrophic scenario. Koutarou drowned, Keiji nowhere to be found. Both boys on the lake’s shore surrounded by pools of blood. Both boys gone, kidnapped, never to be seen again. Her boys out of her reach, too far away from her to protect them. Lost and alone, yearning for a semblance of warmth that she can’t provide. She could never forgive herself if even a single hair on their heads was out of place. She would search till the ends of the earth, find Fate’s Watcher and Tooru and any other God, just to embrace them again.

Seeing the woods become thinner is like breathing fresh air after being cooped up inside all day. The trees are placed just a little further away from each other. Her field of vision clears with the dispersing trees and a renewed vigour floods through her.

She’s getting closer to the lake, closer to her goal, and she hopes with all her might that what she finds does not break her heart.

Time becomes a foreign concept those last moments before she reaches the lake. She’s unsure of its passage, lost to a single-minded focus to find what belongs to her. It could’ve taken both seconds and hours as she rushes forward.

The closer she gets, the more she can see between the trees. At first, it’s just the glimmer of sunlight on water and then  _ something _ laying on the lake’s shore. Her heart rate picks up, her footsteps become quicker, the bag filled with food and drink slams against her back with every step she takes. Branches try to hook themselves into her clothes, obscure her vision and tangle themselves in her hair, but she does not let them stop her. 

The indistinct  _ something _ turns into two distinct lumps as she comes closer. The trees are lower and further apart. She can see further in front of her than before, but all it does is fill her with a slow creeping dread.

She recognises the white and silver strands of Koutarou’s hair, laying there still, and her blood runs cold. She shakes her head, picking up her pace again. Sprinting through the trees and ducking her head around low-hanging branches.

Her eyes are betraying her. She doesn’t have the full picture. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. They’re fine, they have to be.

She finally,  _ finally _ , reaches the edge of the trees, rushing out from under the foliage to take in the scene before her. Her boys splayed out on the ground, face down. Surrounded by Amur Adonis, holding each other’s hands. Surrounded by the faintest blueish-silver glow.

She can’t see if they’re breathing or not, can’t see if their fingers twitch or their legs move and the what ifs almost stop her in her tracks.

She pushes on, however, runs to their side and drops next to Koutarou on her knees. Her hands tremble as she reaches out for her son, terrified that she’ll touch him and find that his skin is cold. Worried that the glow surrounding them might have done this and will hurt her too if she were to touch it. Worried that she’s safe, but the aftereffects are irreversible. That her boys might be d—.

Fate spares her the lot of the most unfortunate. 

Koutarou’s body is warm and the moments she gently touches his shoulders, wanting to turn him onto his back, he stirs. His head moving from side to side until his eyes open and he uses the hand that isn’t holding Keiji’s to prop himself up. The movement wakes Keiji up too, and the other boy stirs blearily as well. Koutarou turns to her, still sleepy, slow and uncoordinated. Using his hand to rub the sleep out of his eye as if he’s trying to place her.

“ _ Okaasan _ ?” he asks, voice hoarse from sleep. Hearing his voice—the roughness of it. Its childish lilt, the affection when he addresses her—is enough for Chiaki to burst into tears. They stream down her face as she pulls Koutarou into her lap, cradling him to her chest and sobbing into his shoulder. When Keiji sits up more, she drags him into her lap too. They’re almost too big for her to hold both of them like this, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The only thought in her mind is that they’re alright. That her boys are safe and unscathed, that Fate hasn’t decided to take them from her yet, and hopefully won’t ever take them from her.

The boys are confused by her tears, but they comfort her anyway. Wrapping their tiny arms around her waist and back and squeezing her tight, like they can’t get enough of her either. Like they know the same fear she felt, experienced the same terror, and wish to comfort her now as they had comforted each other.

She sits there for who knows how long with her boys in her lap, ugly sobs turning to laughter once the relief truly sets in. It takes a while, but she lets them go and tells them to wait near the trees as she sets up the blanket and plates so they can eat near the lake.

When she mentions food Koutarou’s stomach growls and the three of them dissolve into peels of laughter.

Once they’re seated and ready to eat Chiaki asks what happened for them to have collapsed like that and she almost doesn’t want to believe the tale she’s told. The two of them had spent hours at the bottom of the lake, and they could breathe underwater and stayed completely dry? 

She almost utters, “ _ That’s impossible _ ” but then she remembers that Keiji, as unassuming as the little boy looks sometimes, is a godling. Held in high regard by Tooru himself and important enough that Fate’s Watcher paid him a personal visit. 

She accepts their story for what it is and asks them not to do it again. She scolds Koutarou for disobeying her orders and tells him he won’t be allowed to get Keiji on his own anymore until he’s proven himself trustworthy again. He is upset by his punishment but understands by virtue of the consequences of his actions. Although he might have ultimately enjoyed the time spent underwater with Keiji, mortals possess a certain existential fear that they are confronted by in dire times. Wrapping itself around their hearts with a morbid ecstasy that is hard to shake.

To soften the blow a little, she helps them collect the scattered flowers. Not all of them have been ruined and they bundle them together in the blanket with the food.

She promises the boys that she’ll press them into whatever new clothes she makes for them, and they smile. 

The walk back home is pleasant, unaffected by the fear from before. The three of them walk back hand in hand, the sun at their backs. Wishing for a bright future.

Fate does not let the Gods look at its plans yet, but it lies dormant, its threads not yet moving to pull them every which way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and please consider leaving a comment if you did!


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I satisfied with this chapter? Nope, but I've done all I can.   
> Thanks for the Kudos to those who left them! and I hope to see y'all again next week

Koutarou’s sixth birthday passes them by with the same tranquillity as clouds drifting along a summer sky. Chiaki makes him new clothes from fabrics pressed with the flowers Keiji has brought him, and they eat his favourite food for dinner. It is a quiet day in the afterglow of summer and they fall asleep under the stars. Pointing out shapes and wondering what stories lie beyond them. 

They live life undisturbed by meddlesome Gods and Fate.

Keiji turns five three months after Koutarou turns six, and the Gods do not visit him. Chiaki lets out a sigh of relief when he’s still in bed the following morning. She still remembers the horror of waking up Keiji’s third birthday and realising that he was not there and she wishes to never experience that again. 

Even though Keiji hasn’t been taken, this time, life for those high up on the mountain does begin to change. 

Children of Keiji and Koutarou’s age need many things. They require attention and care and change too. Monotonous activities bore children, and sometimes Chiaki wonders how she’ll be able to provide them with novelty as they grow up. She cannot send them to any of the schools down below. She might visit their markets, but she is not a citizen (anymore) and she cannot afford to send her boys to learn. 

Both her boys are smart. Wisdom hides behind Keiji’s eyes, and Koutarou’s heart is lit up by a never-ending curiosity. She will teach them all she knows high up on these mountains. Teach them to read and write with scrolls she has collected through the ages, using some of her well-earned money to buy paper and tools for them to write with. She will provide them with all they need to cultivate that sharp intelligence, hoping that it will serve them well in the future laid out for them. Hoping it will turn them into the fine young men she can’t wait to see grow up.

How, she wonders, will she protect them from themselves? With curiosity comes strive, with intelligence comes struggle and an awareness of the world that can upturn your very heart. Chiaki was friends with scholars once, long before Koutarou was born, long before she came to live here on this mountain, and their biggest pain would always be existence itself. The more they learned, the more they knew about the world, the more morbid they became. Too disillusioned to pray to the Gods. Too disenchanted with life itself to pick up their pieces. Chiaki had only been able to watch as the people she cared about succumbed to knowledge, and she would not wish this same fate on anyone else. Especially not her bright boys.

She thinks this to herself on the morning of Keiji’s fifth birthday. Laying on the single mattress pressed against the back wall of their humble abode. Koutarou and Keiji still sleep in front of her on two stacked quilts, covered by a warm blanket. She’s propped on her side, watching her baby boys as the sunlight filters in. They’re still asleep and it makes an inescapable, intrinsic warmth spread out from a place deep within her heart.

She was not able to stay with Koutarou’s father due to circumstances beyond their control, but she still has Koutarou and for that, she will be forever grateful.

At times she has been exasperated with the universe. At war with the Gods for all the things that have haunted her the past five years since Keiji was born and before then and yet there’s also the unwavering joy in her heart because they found him, and they are stuck together now. With him until the very end.

These thoughts go through her mind as sunlight peeks through the window. Barely visible due to autumn’s waning spirit and winter’s swift approach, and yet enough to illuminate the boys laying next to her.

The sunlight makes Koutarou’s white and silver hair look even lighter, makes those special features of his, given to him by the powers above, even more prominent. Yet they also soften his face further, bathe his tan skin in a light glow. Almost ethereal.

She chuckles to herself as her gaze shifts to Keiji, the real ethereal one amongst them. His hair looks golden brown, surrounding his head, looking a little like tiny waves converging around his skull. A lily pad with his head as the flower at its heart.

His features are even softer in the golden glow of the sunlight. Childish delicacy amplified by the fragile rays of sunlight. Wavering as they shine through the window.

Chiaki knows that her boys will soon stir, but she doesn’t get up yet.

Beyond content to rest in this little moment of quiet, at the start of the day, before the world can come crashing down around you.

Not too long after she’s made these observations, the boys start waking up. Koutarou rises first, moving around in his sleep until he sits up abruptly, disturbing Keiji in the process. Chiaki laughs to herself, deciding this is her cue to get up as well.

This morning is a quiet one. She finished all her work for the shop the day before and can devote all her attention to her children today.

She’s gotten into the habit of saving up some extra money just before either of their birthdays so she can buy better food at the market. Meat and prime vegetables, rice, some eggs and fish too. They can’t expand upon their diet often, sticking to rice and eggs with meagre leftover greens that the vendors sell at the end of the day for half the price. So these small deviations when possible spark joy in both the boys and Chiaki. The awareness of a feast makes the day special the second the soft aromas spread around their tiny home. 

The boys go outside for their baths, using cold rainwater to wash themselves down. Koutarou had helped her with making Keiji’s birthday present, a new set of clothes matching his own in colour but pressed with different flowers. They lay the clothes out on the table and Koutarou brought them outside with them just before they went to wash so they could wear their flower-adorned clothes together on this special day.

As they came back through the door, Koutarou rambunctious and loud as always, the boys started setting up the table. Babbling to each other about the weather and the birds they’d heard earlier. Koutarou beamed as he looked at Keiji, his smile stretching from ear to ear and although Keiji’s smile was only characterised by the slightest upturn of his lip. His eyes, blue like a clear summer sky, shone with overflowing mirth. Chiaki could not help but smile herself, looking at the scene before her. Wishing for many more mornings, many more days, just like this one.

Their meal is characterised by Koutarou’s laughter as he asks Keiji question after question about how he wants to spend his special day.

“Hey, Keicchan,” he’d start and then when Keiji, who doesn’t speak much even at this age, would give him a little nod but no verbal response he’d try again.

“Hey, Hey, Keicchan?” he’d ask trying to get the other boy’s attention and then once more, “Hey, Hey, Hey, Keicchan?” with the third time Keiji would look up from his food, hints of mischief in his eyes and ask, “Yes Koucchan?”

“What do you want to do today?” Koutarou continues and Keiji looks at her from under his lashes. They’re long and curly, casting shadows across his cheeks with the bright light. He’s got a glint in his eyes like he wants to be a little difficult, and Chiaki wonders where this conversation will go. Keiji shrugs at first, but Koutarou would not take this non-answer. He’s about to open his mouth again, to restate his inquiry, louder this time, but Keiji beats him to it.

“Doesn’t Chiaki-san already have plans for the day?” both boys turn to look at her expectantly and Chiaki almost wants to laugh. 

_ Good one _ , she thinks to herself,  _ but not this time _ . With the widest smile she can muster, she shakes her head.

“It’s  _ your _ birthday Keicchan you’ve got to make the plans yourself,” she replies and Koutarou’s face contorts into a smug look. Eyebrows raised at his friend expectantly. As if to ask,  _ Well? What are you going to say about that, huh? _

Keiji, on the other hand, is pouting. He’d hoped that she would’ve told Koutarou that she had plans for them already so he wouldn’t have to come up with something himself, but he’s five now and Chiaki wants him to make his own decisions more. Keiji tends to be fine with just following Koutarou or her around, but he’s his own person too, he can’t follow people around for the rest of his life. He’s got to learn to stand on his own two feet.

Mother and son turn their attention back to the little godling tasked with deciding their activities for the day. His pout has yet to let up, his lip curled and his brows set to add to his obvious dissatisfaction. As they continue to watch him, however, his gaze becomes contemplative until the bright light of an idea shines behind his eyes.

“I want to go to the sea,” Keiji exclaims and Chiaki, unable to deny him on this special day, says yes.

There isn’t much to prepare before they go off to the sea. Most of the food they’ll be taking with them is easily prepared and packed, and all Chiaki has to do after that is take a blanket and some plates and cutlery. She has her boys drink some leftover rainwater and they begin their trek down the mountain. Towards the kingdom and its neighbouring sea.

* * *

The throne room of the Gods is the same reddish hue as the morning glory. Polished red stone pillars, covered in red and black tapestries line the walls. They depict the tales told of the Gods. When Daichi, Kiyoko and Koushi were born from Chaos. When they established themselves through painful struggle and Asahi and Yuu joined them and later, after many clashes, Shouyou and Kei came too and after them many others. The pantheon is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and for every new God, a throne appears. Manifesting when Gods accept their last blessing and officially ascend. Acquiring a throne is the primary marker of a fully-fledged God. Not the magic or the clothes, not the tales told of your adventures. Without a throne these stories do not take hold, without a throne you have nothing to anchor yourself to and you will drift, lost in power that you cannot control until your suffering is ended by those who look at you with pity and not disgust. 

Each God assembled in the throne room today, surrounded by its red glow and imposing walls, has a tale about the thrones they sit in and what it signifies for them. Why it smells the way it does, why it is decorated the way it is, why it transports them to safety in a world filled with strife. 

When necessary they also use the throne room for council. The table they occupy is round and made of polished red pine wood engraved with golden curlicues. Not all the Gods are present but those that are sit upright, back pressed against their throne with rigid posture. Satori and Semi, Tooru and Hajime, Shouyou and Kei, Daichi, Koushi and Kiyoko are present for the assembly today.

Tooru’s throne is made of thin sheets of aquamarine, sculpted to perfection to form low blue waves, growing in size behind him. The throne smells like sweet water, like sunlight and freshly cut grass. The smell that Tooru still associates with his home. Hajime sits next to him, as always, and they hold hands under the table. Hajime’s throne is made of turquoise, a single slab engraved with the image of a spring, water welling up at its origin. The throne has its own heartbeat, soft and low, a hum reverberating through Hajime’s bones, that he needs to hear during stormy nights when memories of lives past haunt him. 

Kiyoko sits across from him, a beautiful throne from lapis lazuli, shaped with massive waves, that smell like sea salt and remind those watching of the fast oceans. Koushi’s throne is made of glass, shaped into big fluffy clouds, almost lifelike. Daichi’s throne is made of granite, it is the most simple of them all, just a single slab as a headrest, with a seat and armrests made of the same stone. It has a grounding presence in the chaos the throne room can descend into.

Next to them are Kei, whose throne is made of milky moonstone shining with a faint glow from within, and Shouyou, whose throne is made of amber pieces, stacked together and glowing from within to grace the surrounding area with an orange glow.

Satori and Eita sit next to those two. Eita’s throne is made of marble, pristine cold stone, smelling like pine trees, wrapped in golden thread, thinner now than it has ever been before.

Satori sits next to him, amethyst throne engraved in silver with different maws, moving like the animals are alive. It unsettles many of them to look at the monsters, but Satori leans back against them like he belongs with them.

The seven of them sit assembled at the table, tension in the air. There are but a few things that they have to discuss but they determine a future for them that is unclear unlike any has been before.

Eita’s injuries are healed. His fingers are no longer charred, neither are his arms and yet.

“Fate is still rejecting me,” Eita starts. His face is pale, hollow. He’s a God, and yet there are bags under his eyes. His tone is soft, volume quiet, barely above a whisper. It does not fit the Eita that they know. Satori’s holding his hand under the table, obvious to all who are gathered there, and the gentle squeeze he gives is clear for the world to see. Eita glances at his love, quickly from the corner of his eye, but in that instance, they hold an entire conversation.

“Satori’s spirits have not answered his calls these past few weeks.” A pause, a heavy silence that pushes down on the shoulders of all those present.

“We are being punished for our insolence because we had questions that Fate did not wish to give the answers to yet and we pushed beyond our league. We crossed a boundary that we cannot uncross.  _ I  _ crossed a boundary that cannot be uncrossed, and Satori by virtue of his connection to me and his affinity with the spirits has now been ostracised as well. Neither of us knows when we will be returned to Fate’s good graces and until then we are blind.” Eita stands from his throne and bows, his head pressed against the floor, in a show of regret and submission. His rich purple robes drag across the floor, billowing around him.

“I apologise for my insolence,” he says, “I am sorry that my actions, hasty and overzealous as they were, have now inconvenienced you too,” his voice breaks, “this was not my intention but I have failed you, nonetheless. Allow me to prove myself worthy of your company once more, with time.”

Satori is already half out of his throne, ready to collect his love from the floor. Everyone else might not have left their seats, but their mouths are opened to object.

Kiyoko is the one to speak, voice soft and lilting like the ocean on a good day.

“Rise Eita,” she says, power emanating from her, “Rise, and once more take your seat. You have made your mistakes, and you have repented. You are forgiven and need not humiliate yourself so.” And when Kiyoko is the one to speak, all they can do is listen to her.

Eita stands and retakes his seat at the table, head still bowed in shame. However, Satori will not let this prevail. He puts a single slender finger under his lover’s chin and lifts it up, making him face the room. Not allowing him to look away. That gesture in and of itself conveys love.

Tooru is the one to continue speaking after that.

“Regarding the issue we currently face, staring into the future unknown, I am also thinking about Keiji and his development. He is to receive his next blessing in a year and another three years after that, but I wonder how his powers might develop in the meantime. His source is fast and deep, it is tethered to the mountain it belongs to and means he will be powerful too. Hajime and I are unsure of how to best help him with no sight on his future. He appears docile and happy with the mortals that he lives with now. He cares for them and they tether him to humanity, we cannot speak of what he might be capable of if something were to happen to them.”

A darker silence descends upon the room. They all think back to moments where they themselves exhibited behaviours due to those precious to them being hurt and wonder what little Keiji, marked by Fate, might bring about.

The Gods continue to talk about other business after that, discussing the well-being of the other Deities who belong under Tooru and Hajime at the Blue Castle. They talk amongst themselves about Asahi and Yuu and how their pantheon is ever-expanding. 

Although the conversation might have started heavy, when they leave for their quarters by the end of it, they all feel light.

Hajime and Tooru are a little worried still, in their chamber after the council, watching Keiji and his mortals playing near the ocean. They look happy together, but watching them makes something unpleasant settle in their stomachs.

* * *

The sea is visible by the time they’ve got about a quarter of the mountain left. Through the trees, they can see the faintest shimmer of sunlight on water, and Keiji’s smile widens with every time they catch a glimpse of it.

Keiji and Koutarou are walking in front, hand in hand, and Chiaki follows behind them with their bags. She has to keep reminding them to watch their step and not rush ahead too much, just in case they trip on the undergrowth and fall over.

The sea spreads out further than the eye can see. It is said to connect the kingdom of Fukurodani to other countries with its waters but in all her years living in the area, Chiaki has seen no one arrive from there. She was already living high up in her mountain home when the last fragments of war were fought and no enemies ever reached the city’s walls nor the mountain adjacent to it. She had been safe, Koutarou’s father had not been so lucky.

They reach the sea sooner rather than later. From their spot on the sandy beach, they can see the city’s looming walls. The guards that stand atop it are but tiny flecks in the distance. Chiaki tells her boys not to stray too far when they play, but the two can barely hear her. Too busy running through the sand and getting themselves dirty.

Chiaki spreads out the blanket and makes sure the food and plates are secured together. Then she calls the boys to her.

“I know it’s your birthday Keicchan, and that you both haven’t played near the sea before, but I want to establish some rules, okay?” she says, waiting for the boys to nod before she continues.

“You’re not allowed to go near the water, nor do I want you to go close to the city. I need to be able to see both of you at all times, alright?” the boys nod and run off. Chiaki stares after them fondly.

* * *

Keiji wasn’t planning on disobeying Chiaki-san’s rules. Her rules were reasonable and put in place for their own safety and he would’ve obeyed, he  _ wanted  _ to obey, if not for this.

Koutarou and he were playing in the sand together. Building castles and slapping each other with the fine sand. It’s between their toes and underneath their fingernails. The tiny grains stuck in their hair too. All was fine and dandy as they played until a deep blue shimmer caught Keiji’s eye. Koutarou was focused on the sand, heaping it into a big pile with concentration, and therefore didn’t notice when Keiji turned around.

Keiji’s eyes widened as he looked at the sea. A bright blue light pulsed within the water and he swore he could see a face in it or something moving, beckoning him forward. He knew that Chiaki-san wouldn’t approve of his actions if he were to walk into the sea. He’d be directly opposing her and breaking her rules, but the water beckoned to him so nice and it reminded him of the comfort of his lake. Keiji likes the water, and he knows that water likes him too.

So with his eyes fixed to the shimmering spot he steps forward, and he keeps walking until his feet hit the water, until he’s halfway under, until the water closes up above his head and he’s surrounded by that deep blue pulsing light.

The light shrinks in on itself and becomes brighter. Too bright for Keiji to see through and once his vision clears, he is met with a beautiful woman.

Her hair is a deep dark blue, almost black, and it floats around her head like a crown. Her eyes are the same blue as the sea by night, and she’s draped in a heavy blue cloak. Her features are fine and symmetrical, her complexion pale. The slightest hint of a smile grazes her lips and Keiji wonders if she knows Tooru because only other Gods could look like this.

“Nice to meet you, Keiji,” she says. Her voice is melodic and low, but it carries like ripples through water. Keiji bows a little before he opens his mouth to greet her back.

“My name is Kiyoko,” she says, “the seas and oceans belong to me.” She beckons him closer and holds his head in her hands. Her skin is soft and her hold gentle.

“You will be a strong one someday,” she says, and heat rises to Keiji’s cheeks, “But that’s not why I’m here today. Your fifth birthday is something very important and because of that, I wanted to give you a bit of a gift. Follow me.”

Kiyoko starts swimming away to deeper water and Keiji follows her filled with curiosity and excitement.

Keiji looks all around him as they descend. The fish are bigger than those in his lake and there’s a wide variety of plants in a myriad of colours that become more plentiful as they get lower.

The bottom of this part of the sea is dark. When Keiji looks up, he can vaguely see the sun shine through the water, but besides that, the only light around is emitting from Kiyoko.

She looks at him expectantly and Keiji blanches. What does she expect him to do? How can he not disappoint this woman come down from the heavens? 

He stares at her, trying to catch any sort of clue, but he gets distracted by the surrounding glow. By the magic running along her skin and sparking off of it. It’s almost like its own blood flow, like its own ecosystem, keeping itself intact.

_ Can I do that too? _ Keiji wonders and well, it never hurts to try. So he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. Imagines blue magic pouring out of him till it envelops his body with a soft glow, to clear away the darkness of the deep sea and allow him to move without care, like the water is his home. Which it is, when it comes to his lake, up high in the mountain. He can feel it calling, just a little, saying, “Hey, Hey, Keiji, won’t you keep me with you forever? Won’t you hold me close? I miss you.”

When he opens his eyes again, he’s engulfed in blue and seashells cover the seafloor at his feet. Fragile and shiny, unimaginably beautiful. 

Soft laughter, like bells in the breeze, snaps him out of his observations. Kiyoko is smiling at him, pearly whites on full display, eyes almost closed. Grinning from ear to ear, like Koutarou does when they’ve been playing together and Keiji has done something comedic or indulged him in his eccentricities.

Keiji isn’t even six yet, and he lives off of those smiles. Those smiles make his blood pump faster, his heartbeat quicken, his body comes alive with those smiles. This smile does that too, if to a lesser extent. And just as with Koutarou, Keiji can’t help but smile back.

“Good job,” Kiyoko says, and she pets him on the head, ruffling his hair in the same way Chiaki-san does. 

“Now pick one,” Kiyoko continues, making a wide sweeping gesture to indicate the seashells. “Or two, if you want to. These are presents.”

Keiji jumps up and down, only remembering that he’s underwater when he floats down softly and it takes more effort to jump up. 

He looks at the never-ending sea floor, covered in shells, and gets to work.

* * *

Keiji walked into the sea between one blink and the next.

Chiaki had seen her little boys playing together one second and the next she’s looked away and sees Keiji’s head disappear underwater. 

There is nothing she nor Koutarou can do but watch the sea. The waves crashing against the shore, like nothing has disturbed them. They hope with all their might that like before the water will return him to them but even though they both scream their voice hoarse, calling out for Keiji over and over again. He does not return.

* * *

Keiji finds the two perfect shells after what feels like hours of searching, it can’t have been that long, however, because when he looks up, the sun still looks the same. One of the two conch shells, silver in colour, is bigger than his hand. The other, blue, lines up perfectly with his hand all the way to the tip of his middle finger.

“Do you want those two?” Kiyoko asks him and Keiji nods.

“They’re pretty,” he says, and she smiles at him. She motions for him to hand the shells over and when he hands them to her, they glow brightly in her grasp. They’ve both shrunk a little, with a rope through the shell, like a pendant. 

“Necklaces,” Kiyoko says, “Give them to someone special.” She strokes his cheek and presses a single kiss to his forehead. Hair floating around her head and sunlight surrounding her like something ethereal. The water flashes bright blue around them and the next second Keiji is walking out of the waves, back onto the beach. Dry, like he was never gone at all.

Koutarou and Chiaki-san rush to him, clamping onto him with all their might. Their cheeks are wet with tears, their voices filled with anguish. Their bodies tremble.

Keiji grips the shell necklaces tighter, there’s an apology on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider leaving a comment if you liked the chapter and see y'all next week!


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The years fly by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing hard ugh. (Please interpret that as you will)  
> I hope y'all still enjoy the chapter though! School is starting up again so I'm changing my update days to Sunday instead of Monday and that means that there won't be a new chapter next week Monday but instead next week Sunday. Hope y'all don't mind.  
> Stay safe and please enjoy!

Keiji gets punished for the stunt he pulled on his birthday. Chiaki-san wears the necklace he’d given her and Koutarou does too, but both of them are distant with him afterwards. Keiji understands this, he’d broken the rules, and they worried about him. He was in the wrong. He’d apologised and explained what happened and for the first time he’d seen skepsis in the eyes of the people whom he loves the most. Keiji’d never thought that could happen, and yet here it is.

He wonders for a moment if this is the faith for Gods surrounded by mortals; they drift apart with time because there’s too much distance between them.

His punishment entails that he has to help Chiaki-san with her work every night and isn’t allowed to play with Koutarou at all for a week. None of them like it but they understand, Keiji was in the wrong and he doesn’t mind helping much. It’s fun, and he enjoys being able to use his hands like this.

His powers have been acting up a little since he met Kiyoko. He has vivid dreams at night of his lake covered in flowers sat together in clusters, the blue ones that Koutarou likes, and when he wakes up the following morning his hands shine blue and those exact flowers are imprinted into his skin. It’s almost as if they’re alive. He swears he has seen them shift before, and he wonders if he’ll be able to pull them right out of his skin someday. He hasn’t tried it yet, for fear of tearing his skin, but with every day that passes he becomes more and more assured that he’ll be able to do it.

* * *

The first day of spring is the first time that Keiji wakes up with Lacecap Hydrangea spilling from his arms. The blue buds cover his hands and arms, there are even a few that bloom from his neck. There are so many of them that it wakes Koutarou up, who exclaims in surprise and joy.

“They’re like your eyes!” he yells, grabbing at the flowers and holding them next to Keiji’s face. Keiji’s cheeks heat up and he tries to hide his face with his arms. All it does is land more flowers near his face for Koutarou to compare him to. 

That’s what Chiaki wakes up to. Koutarou holding as many flowers as he can and yelling about how much they look like Keiji and Keiji trying to hide his face as more and more flowers fall from his arms. They come out of his neck and legs too, and it makes little sense to him.

His source is a  _ lake _ . Water. He’s got nothing with plants unlike Tooru or Hajime. He’s just Keiji, who has his lake and water, and that’s it.

After Chiaki gets both boys to calm down the flowers stop appearing. They clean them up together and leave some to press into their clothes. With all the new flowers Chiaki will be able to produce many patterned fabrics and hopefully these will sell well at the market this week.

Watching Chiaki-san use the flowers he called into existence makes Keiji smile.

* * *

Koutarou’s birthday passes them by with nothing major. The days are getting colder already, summer leaving them behind, but Koutarou insists on being outside. They spent the entire day in the clearing, running around and eating together. In the past months Chiaki has made a start with teaching the both of them how to read and Koutarou’s present this year had been paper, a brush and a little vial of ink so he could practice his writing. He’d beamed at her when he received his present and promised that he’d write lots and with care, so he could develop the prettiest handwriting in all the lands. Chiaki smiled at her little sunshine and ruffled his hair. 

“I can’t wait to see it Koucchan,” she’d said and hugged him tight.

Keiji, who was gaining more control of his newfound flower making ability, had given Koutarou a flower crown which he refused to take off the entire day. He kept adjusting it on his head as they played together. He only took it off once, to gently place it on Keiji’s head, who clearly did not want to be crowned. The moment Koutarou let go of the flower crown Keiji took it off his own head, crowning Koutarou again by placing the flowers on his head with care.

“It’s  _ your _ birthday,” he says, “so you’re the king out of the two of us.” Koutarou’s face breaks out in a smile and he tackles Keiji into a hug. Keiji squeals and tells him to be careful lest the flowers get smashed but he’s laughing along with Koutarou all the same. 

They spend the day without a care in the world.

* * *

Their next disturbance is Keiji’s sixth birthday. The days are colder but not yet freezing; the nights are getting long again and Chiaki has exchanged the boys’ autumn wear for clothes made of a thicker fabric.

On the morning of Keiji’s sixth birthday, Chiaki is not awoken by her son screaming that his best friend is gone. Nor is she awoken by loud laughter of the two boys waking up before her. She is, however, awoken by the sound of knuckles rapping against her door.

Careful not to wake the children, she makes her way to the door, peeking through the window to see who it might be. She’d recognise that white and teal cloak anywhere and carefully opens the door. Letting Tooru, in all his cloaked and curly-haired beauty, into her humble abode. Following behind him is the man she’d seen with Keiji before, the one with the spiky dark brown hair and darker skin. His face is set in a scowl but his eyes are friendly and Tooru brought him along so Chiaki isn’t worried. Now that she has the chance to look at him longer he becomes more familiar, but she can’t recall his name. Hopefully Tooru will introduce them.

“Good morning, Chiaki-san,” Tooru whispers with a smile. “Congratulations with Keiji.” She smiles back at him and bows, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“I wish to congratulate you too, Tooru-sama and thank you for visiting us today. Keiji will be excited,” Chiaki says with a smile, motioning for the men to take a seat around the table.

“Oh wait,” Tooru says, stopping her in her tracks and dragging the man with the spiky hair from behind him. “I haven’t introduced my companion yet, I suppose.” The man’s scowl has lessened, but he rolls his eyes at Tooru’s antics, putting a hand on the small of the other God’s back.

“Chiaki-san meet Hajime, my partner,” Tooru says and Chiaki immediately wants to apologise for not recognising him. Hajime is Tooru’s fated partner, his right-hand man, their mythos overlaps and intertwines. One does not exist without the other, but the descriptions of the man are vague and he goes easily forgotten, as do other minor Gods. Even though he might not be as well known as Tooru he still exudes the same aura of divinity. He looks steady and unwavering, unshakeable. By just looking at him, Chiaki knows she’ll trust him with both her boys in a heartbeat.

She bows to Hajime as well, thanking him for coming to her humble abode for Keiji’s birthday.

“Keiji’s important to us,” Hajime replies, voice gruff, “Six is an important age, we wouldn’t want to miss it.” He might look a little grumpy, but his tone is sincere enough to make warmth well up in Chiaki’s chest.

Just before they wake the boys up Hajime drags Tooru in front of her by the back of his neck and forces him into a deep bow. Chiaki is bewildered by this action, taking a step back and anxiously waving her hands in front of her, wondering why Tooru, a  _ God _ , would be bowing for her.

“He’s got something more to say to you,” Hajime states, unwavering, there’s no question to it.

“ _ Hajime _ .” But the other God does not let up. He holds Tooru’s head down firmly until he speaks again.

“Chiaki-san,” Tooru starts, “It’s been brought to my attention that the actions that happened on Keiji’s third birthday were distressing and I would like to apologise for the events that conspired that night.” Although Tooru was reluctant to apologise, it sounds sincere and it brings a small smile to Chiaki’s lips. The words sound clumsy coming from him, but his posture tells her enough about his feelings.

“Please stand up, Tooru-sama. There is no need to apologise for what’s past. Let’s wake the boys up, I’m sure Keiji will be ecstatic.” With that Chiaki has saved the both of them from further embarrassment and turns their attention to the boys sleeping atop the quilts, covers half kicked off of them in their sleep and snuggled together to combat the morning chill.

As Chiaki wakes the boys up she notices how Hajime and Tooru’s eyes are fixed on them, she can’t discern their expressions but their postures betray a hint of unease, a bit of sadness maybe. Chiaki dismisses it, focusing on the boys instead.

Koutarou is sluggish as he wakes up, but Keiji snaps up the moment she touches his shoulder. He looks behind her as if he could sense Tooru and Hajime’s presence, and when he spots them his face breaks open in one of his few wide smiles. Teeth on full display, cheeks stretched, eyes half-closed with mirth. He almost trips in his excitement to get out from under the covers and rush towards the two Gods. Keiji’s clumsy and hasty movements end up waking Koutarou who blinks up at her owlishly before smiling wide as she pinches his cheek.

Both boys are six now and every time she realises this Chiaki is taken aback. She can remember Koutarou’s birth so vividly, remembers holding him in her arms for the first time. Tiny, bundled in cloth, barely able to keep his eyes open once he finished crying. She remembers the night that she found Keiji like it was yesterday, finding the babe, still alive but barely moving, laying on the lake’s shore. Too close to the water for comfort. She remembers how it felt to pick him that first time, to see his little lips move, the blue of his eyes more mesmerising than any sky could ever be. The way she’d watched over him that first night whilst Koutarou slept in her bed. 

She can’t stop the smile that breaks onto her face as she pulls Koutarou into her lap. She grunts a little as she does, he’s starting to get too heavy for her to carry. The realisation makes something akin to melancholy resonate through her body, but she puts it out of mind. Children grow up, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Chiaki will always miss holding her little boy in her arms but she’s going to see him grow into a fine young man and if that means she can’t carry him anymore it’s fine. Being able to see him stand on his own two feet sometime is more than enough of a reward, more than enough of a gift.

Once both the boys are up, she tells them to go clean themselves and get dressed which they’re both reluctant to do. Koutarou because he’s curious about their visitors and Keiji’s relationship to them and Keiji because he’s been clamped onto Tooru since he woke up and getting ready means letting go. When Tooru gently tells him to go and Hajime gives him a friendly yet stern look, he scampers off after Koutarou.

Whilst the boys are getting ready, Chiaki offers the two Gods a seat, initially refusing to let them help her with making breakfast. Hajime insists, and she concedes reluctantly. It almost doesn’t feel like the two men are Gods at all. It’s like she’s invited friends over for her child’s birthday. She hasn’t been friends with anyone her own age since Koutarou’s father died. As she cooks with Hajime by her side, she realises that this is something she misses.

Even though the setting is very domestic and the two Gods act like any other human would, their divinity shines through. It’s less obvious with Hajime than it is with Tooru, but it’s there, nonetheless. Sometimes she looks at them from the corner of her eyes and it’s like the air around them vibrates, like it sparks with magic and a deep teal hue that might pull her in too close if she pays too much attention to it. Sometimes it’s in their eyes, the glow of them, and the few times she’s brushed against either of them it makes her think that could be what being struck by lightning might feel like. The first time she accidentally bumps into Hajime in her small kitchen it makes her jump, and after that she’s careful to avoid touching him.

She wonders if this is what it’ll be like with Keiji one day. If he’ll become too divine for her to touch without hurting herself, that he’ll start looking more and more otherworldly as he ages until she won’t be able to recognize him anymore. She wonders if he and Koutarou will still be close if they’re older or if Keiji’s divinity will drive a wedge between them, tearing the childhood friends apart with no chance of reconciliation. The thought of it alone makes her feel sick, to think that her boys will someday not be as close as they are now hurts her heart.

She refrains from speculating on it further, instead continuing to cook breakfast with Hajime in silence. They make miso soup and cook some rice, she’s planning on leaving the fancier foods for dinner.

Her and Hajime make a good team and sometimes when she looks over at the table where Tooru sits with his head in his hands she’ll catch him staring at Hajime with love in his eyes, expression open and soft, completely vulnerable for anyone who’s looking. She can’t suppress a smile at the sight of it. She’d known that kind of love once and she hopes Keiji and Koutarou will experience it too one day. Love like that, unconditional and unwavering, is hard to find. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, but it sticks with you. Tethers itself to your soul and never lets you go. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

* * *

Just as they’re putting the last plates on the table the boys come back inside. They’re fully dressed, but their hair is still wet, clinging to their foreheads. Chiaki can see some droplets running down their necks and faces. She shoots them a disapproving look and they go back outside to dry themselves off properly. She can only imagine what happened. They’d gotten distracted playing in the clearing and then once they realised they’d been gone for longer than a shower warranted, they’d probably rushed themselves. Chiaki chuckles at the thought and finishes setting the table with a smile. Hajime takes a seat next to Tooru and Chiaki sits at the head of the table. The boys run inside, properly dried, and they fill the room with excited chatter. They take their seats and after saying a quick, “ _ Itadakimasu _ ”, they dig in.

After breakfast they decided to go up to the mountain to the lake. Keiji is the one to suggest it and Chiaki goes along. She’s just glad he’s not suggesting the sea again. After last year, they haven’t visited the sea again. Even though Keiji explained that Kiyoko, Goddess of the Sea herself, had accompanied him underwater. The thought of seeing her boy disappear underneath the water again makes something dark bubble up in Chiaki’s stomach. Ominous and foreboding, so she’s avoided the sea. Keiji’s lake has never been dangerous, even though it’s given Chiaki its fair share of heart palpitations.

Keiji’s monthly visits have continued and Koutarou and her still go to pick him up together. Especially these days when the sun sets early and the dark forest is easy to get lost in. After finding them face down on the shore, the image hasn’t left her mind so she’s been overly cautious with letting them out for certain things ever since.

So this fine morning of Keiji’s sixth birthday Chiaki makes the trek up the mountain with her boys again, accompanied by Tooru and Hajime this time. The two Gods walk behind them and Chiaki can see them holding hands from the corner of her eyes. Their position almost mirrors Koutarou and Keiji who walk in front of her, hands entwined and massive grins on their faces. They’re swinging their clasped hands and skipping ahead before turning back around as to not stray too far away from Chiaki and the two Gods.

Chiaki isn’t sure what exactly has filled them with this unfiltered excitement, but she’s glad to see it. Koutarou is one for smiles and big displays of excitement, Keiji isn’t as big on emotions. He’s always so quiet and reserved, waiting for Koutarou’s next plans and going along with him wholeheartedly. He’s almost shy with his emotions sometimes, shy to curl a lip and smile, shy to be too loud. As if he’s embarrassed of himself. Or maybe it’s just because he gets flustered easily and Koutarou insists on complimenting him whenever he smiles. Even after six years of living together and playing together, Keiji still hasn’t gotten used to Koutarou’s earnestness. The way he compliments people without a second thought. Chiaki is taken aback by it sometimes as well. 

As the boys get older, they help her out a little on market days, mostly by wrapping the different garments or fabrics and giving customers their change back. She also lets them carry the groceries together, although she still carries the bag if it gets too heavy. The first time Koutarou complimented one of her customers of his own volition, just blurting out that he liked one lady’s braid, she’d been mortified. The customer too had been startled by his sudden address but once his words registered and she saw him smiling from ear to ear, she’d smiled back and given him a pat on the head. Going as far as to tug a little at the long strands of black, white and silver hair that lay tangled together on his head, falling across his forehead ever so slightly. 

“I like your hair too,” she’d replied with a gentle smile, and Koutarou hadn’t been able to stop smiling for the rest of the day. Since then he’d been eager with his compliments, dishing out praise whenever he saw fit. It always sounded just as genuine as that very first time, regardless of who the customer was, Koutarou would find one thing about them that he liked and then earnestly tell them so. Face sincere and then later breaking into a wide smile. Chiaki observed these interactions and encouraged them, wanting Koutarou to have these experiences. To learn that kindness breeds kindness as long as you’re sincere. Keiji had always been too shy to pipe up with a compliment of his own, but he watched Koutarou’s interactions with wide eyes, taking in his movements and his tone of voice studiously like an apprentice following around his favourite teacher. The star of his universe.

Reminiscing about these moments brings a smile to Chiaki’s face, especially when she thinks about how Koutarou’s compliments are abundant, but there are always more for Keiji than for anyone else. Keiji gets compliments when he beats Koutarou at one of their running games. He gets compliments when he helps set the table and puts everything down correctly. He gets compliments for the smallest of actions, but they’re never condescending and Keiji is still flustered by the sheer sincerity of these words Koutarou has for him.

Chiaki enjoys watching the two of them interact, knows that they’ll always have each other one way or another. The knowledge that they’ll always be together is enough to settle the nerves in her chest and make her racing heart slow down.

Her boys will be fine as long as they have each other.

* * *

When they reach the lake, the boys throw themselves on the grass in a heap. Limbs knocking into each other and digging into the other’s stomach or neck. They’re laughing as they go down, rolling around in the grass and getting it stuck to their clothes. Chiaki keeps a sharp eye on them as she lays out a blanket over the still damp grass, watching to make sure they don’t roll too close to the water.

“The lake won’t hurt either of them,” Tooru says, startling her out of her observations.

“Keiji’s practically immortal, he’s got a few more years to go and then with his ninth birthday he’ll be able to take his place amongst the Gods and death won’t be able to lay its fingers on him any longer.” His words are firm, but there’s an undercurrent of worry in them. 

“And because Koutarou and Keiji are so close, the lake will do anything to keep Koutarou alive.” Tooru turns to her, half-smile on his face, she can see him squeeze Hajime’s hand. “We Gods are a little possessive of the things and people we care about. Few things can stay with you through the aeons, so we go to insurmountable lengths to keep what we hold dear. It’s in our nature.” Tooru looks at Hajime as he says those last words and Chiaki turns away from them and their silent conversation, focussing her attention on her boys once more.

They’re laying at the lake’s edge, feet almost touching the water, faces aimed at the sky. It’s cloudy and grey due to winter’s cold, but this doesn’t deter them from pointing at the sky, gesticulating wildly to indicate what shape they believe certain clouds to have. Chiaki takes a seat and continues to watch them as Hajime and Tooru take a seat next to her.

They observe the children together in silence.

It doesn’t take too long for Tooru to break the silence. He scrapes his throat to get her attention, but Hajime shakes his head at him, designating himself as the one to speak. Chiaki knows that the two Gods she’s watching are older than she can imagine but they look so young still and these little things of theirs, where they seem to forget about the rest of the world existing reminds her of her and Koutarou’s father back in their youth.

Only young love is so consuming, making the rest of the world fade away with the joy it provides.

“Chiaki-san,” Hajime starts and she turns to face him with one eyebrow quirked in question. “We’ve got something for Keiji. It’s one more step for him to acquire his Godhood, but we wanted to inform you of it first.”

“Is it dangerous?” she asks.

“Not necessarily. It’ll just further unlock his powers. At most you’ll have more flowers to clean up,” he chuckles, “at worst, well… even we’re not sure what Keiji might be capable of. He was born in this lake but the entire mountain is his domain. We don’t know what that’ll entail but it means he’ll be strong. We’re not sure how that’ll pack out, but we’ll try to do our best to keep you and your son safe.” Tooru and Hajime both look at her as Hajime finishes speaking. There is a promise in their eyes, a steely determination. Knowledge of darkness to come. It sends chills running down Chiaki’s spine. She bows her head to them and when she says, “Thank you,” her voice is overflowing with gratitude.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while after that. Just watching the boys play around the water’s edge, looking for the last few flowers that prevail during the winter’s cold and bringing them over to them when they’ve found handfuls. Chiaki braids the flowers into her hair, long black strands contrasting with the vibrant blooms. Once they see her doing it the boys also want flowers in their hair but there’s nothing to be found.

Keiji took it into his own hands, since nature won’t provide them what they want.

Chiaki remembers the first morning that she woke up to her two boys covered in flowers. She’d been frazzled to discover them pouring from Keiji without pause, but after the second and third morning she’d gotten accustomed to it. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens enough for her not to be surprised by it. However, in the months since flowers first bloomed from Keiji’s skin, she’d never  _ seen _ it happen before. The sight of it is mesmerising.

She’d wondered if the sight of it might be disturbing, seeing flowers come out of human skin, but it’s nothing like that. Keiji closes his eyes and a faint blue glow overtakes him, making the air around him shimmer. First she can see the outlines of flowers underneath his skin, like they’re drawings, painted with lifelike precision, as they twist and turn underneath his skin. Multiplying slowly and unfurling their petals before they break skin. It doesn’t look strange to see them coming out of his skin. It’s as if Keiji’s skin is made of flowers one second and the next his arms are covered in them. Deep blue Lacecap Hydrangea flowing from Keiji’s skin. The tiny flowers drown out every inch of his skin, they’re even pouring out from underneath the sleeves of his  _ yukata _ and sprouting from behind his ears. Chiaki gets up to help Koutarou with collecting the flowers. They grab as many as they can, but many of the fragile flowers still flutter to the ground, surrounding them in a wide circle. The wind has blown some petals into the lake where they float gently atop the water, clumping together without sinking even as their petals become soaked through.

Chiaki is too focused on her boys to notice Tooru and Hajime watching them with wonder in their eyes.

* * *

“Remember the first time I made flowers bloom for you?”

“Yeah, you were a whole lot older than this six-year-old and you could barely do a bouquet.”

“Don’t be  _ mean _ .”

“Don’t make it so easy then.”

* * *

They eat lunch next to the lake. The weather is still quite cold but none of them mind feeling warm in the others’ company. It’s a quick but pleasant affair, filled with some of Keiji’s favourite dishes.

Once they’re all done Tooru and Hajime want to give Keiji his next blessing. They try not to make it into too much of a ceremony, but when Tooru makes a plain cloak appear out of thin air Chiaki and Koutarou’s attention is caught.

It looks like a simple piece of cloth with a hood, but as Keiji pulls it on it starts to glow. He looks at himself with wonder, staring at the cloth as it changes. 

The cloth first turns white as snow. Whiter than snow even, it’s more pristine than the white of the cloak that both Hajime and Tooru wear. The hood of the cloak turns black, and the darkness bleeds onto the back half of the cloak as well. A single golden stripe runs down the sides of the cloak and a gold band surrounds the hood. 

Keiji pulls it over his head. It obscures his face, leaving nothing but his lips for them to see. He’s smiling wide, showing all his teeth in his joy. He spins in circles, lifting his arms to the side and twirls. Then he runs over to Koutarou and shows his new cloak off like his best friend hadn’t just seen the cloak’s fabric magically colour itself. Tooru and Hajime look at the kids fondly. Chiaki wonders if the Gods can have kids. The mythos is too fragmented for her to know, and if not: are they just forlornly watching their contemporaries grow up in a simulation of the human family dynamic? She’ll never know.

The Gods have their own domains and there are infinite minor deities and animal spirits, beyond the tales that the humans hold the Gods exist on their own. Many don’t believe they exist beyond the stories, but now that Chiaki has met them she can only imagine the way they’ve spent their immortal lives. She wonders how Tooru and Hajime grew up, if they did so together or found each other at a later age. If they see themselves in Koutarou and Keiji and look at them fondly because they’re reminded of their younger selves in these same situations. She won’t be getting answers, but she can always speculate.

* * *

Keiji wears the cloak for the rest of the day, not even wanting to take it off before going to bed. The cloak feels soft and makes Chiaki’s skin tingle where she touches it. It accentuates Keiji’s features and elevates his divinity.

Tooru and Hajime say goodbye to them at the lake and Keiji, who barely reaches their mid-thigh, clings onto the both of them with tears in his eyes. It stings a little for Chiaki, watching that, but she knows that she’ll never have the same connection to Keiji as those two have. She’ll never be able to understand how it feels to have power flowing through you, how it feels to be connected to the matter that makes up the universe itself. She’ll never know, and she can’t advise him, and she has to admit that even if she does not want to.

Koutarou in the meantime stares at Keiji, pouting, but there’s something thoughtful in his eyes.

Chiaki wonders what her little one might be thinking.

* * *

When summer comes around again, they spend hours lounging near Keiji’s lake. 

Chiaki takes her work with her and watches her boys lounge around the lake. Since gaining his cloak, Keiji has been able to grow more and more flowers. Lacecap Hydrangea bloom at the snap of his fingers, Amur Adonis grows from his skin without issue, Tiger Lilies and any other flower he knows he can grow without issue.

He brings them to her to use for her fabrics. He weaves them into crowns and carefully places them on Koutarou’s head; he fills parts of his lake with the flowers and together with Koutarou he watches them float until they’re out of sight.

The lake has responded to Keiji differently since he got his cloak. The water moves towards him when he gets close to the edge and parts for him when he steps into it. When he focuses, he can make it ripple and sometimes he creates waves that wash the flowers, which have floated off towards the centre of the lake, back to the shore.

In the months after his sixth birthday, Keiji’s powers grow exponentially. Divinity clings to him more and more and some mornings when Chiaki watches her boys as they sleep Keiji looks unreal. She thinks about Hajime telling her that Keiji will be able to properly join the pantheon in three years, and she wonders if it means that he’ll leave them behind for good. If it means she’ll never be able to watch Keiji turn 10. If she’ll never get to see him go through puberty or hit his growth spurt. If she’ll never get to see him grow into his features. If, in her mind, Keiji will forever be a nine-year-old because he’ll leave after that.

The loss of his sole friend would devastate Koutarou, the boy he looks for first thing in the morning and who he still clamps onto at night, holding on with all his might so the night won’t take his friend away. He’d be inconsolable if Keiji really had to say goodbye.

Chiaki hopes that they won’t ever have to say goodbye.

* * *

Koutarou’s seventh birthday passes with sunshine and Keiji and Chiaki shower him in flowers. They spend all day at the market, looking at the different stalls. Even though they aren’t able to buy anything they still have fun. Chiaki leads Koutarou and Keiji past the King’s palace, where they pay their respect. It is an uneventful day all things considered but they’re saving them up. Chiaki wants to save up as many uncomplicated good days as possible because the years fly by.

Three years is an awfully short time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so that's that. I hope y'all enjoyed it, I'll be back in like 13 days, cya!


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating last week Sunday like I said I would. Uni was busier than I thought it would be. I'll try to keep the weekly updates only but otherwise the updates will be bi-weekly and on Sundays.
> 
> Thank you for your consideration and please enjoy.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING**
> 
> **please check the tags, they have changed, in regards to this chapter of the fic. Shit really hits the fan. There are quite graphic descriptions of violence and a character's death. Check the tags and thread carefully. The sensitive part of the fic is clearly indicated.**

The years pass them by with relative easy. The Gods do not visit Keiji when he turns seven, nor eight and Koutarou grows up alongside him. 

Since Keiji’s powers manifested he’s become more and more entranced by them, more and more enticed by what they can provide. He makes flowers bloom for them and calls his lake water to his hands. When it rains him and Koutarou go outside without fear of getting wet because the rain will deflect from them at the flick of Keiji’s fingers. With every year that passes, Keiji becomes more in-tune with the nature they live in and he gives back too.

He uses his powers to water the flowers and make them bloom, makes his lake surpass its shores when the surrounding plants look a little dry, he protects recently sprouted plants from downpours and makes sure their fragile stems don’t break and the mountain reacts to him like he’s their saviour. At times Chiaki could swear that the plants move towards him as he walks by, like they want to reach out and touch even the slightest bit of his divinity. Chiaki gets it though. Keiji glows, his features are sharp and clean like a beautifully polished katana. You cannot help but be drawn to him.

With age Keiji has become aware of himself just a little more, even for an eight-year-old he carries himself with a certain distance. Aware of his otherness, of his divinity and how it affects those around them. Makes them stop and stare at him, makes them pause in their step for just a moment.

He lets his guard down around Koutarou, though. He slips out of his conscientiousness and is Keiji again. The Keiji that Chiaki knows and has seen grow up into a quiet child who fidgets with his fingers and fixates on nature. Who is snarky underneath the reserve and endlessly enamoured by Koutarou’s eyes.

They’re young still. Koutarou will be turning ten soon, but there’s something sweet in their interactions that has always been there, and Chiaki wonders what it’ll grow into. If she was right with her suspicions or not. If she has seen it right when the two boys carefully clasp hands.

Keiji is much more obvious in his affections than Koutarou is. Her golden-eyed boy is clingy and tactile with all those he cares about. He gives out compliments like they’re air, like it costs him nothing and it’s difficult to see the distinction between a Koutarou who’s speaking to just anyone or clinging to just anyone and a Koutarou who is clinging to or speaking with _Keiji_. His face changes, his gaze softens, and he follows him around dreamily. There’s such unending comfortability in his touch that Chiaki almost feels like she has to look away from something so tender and sweet.

Koutarou’s affections appear casual, but Chiaki knows her boy and sees the significance of them. It brings a smile to her face every time.

Keiji, unlike Koutarou, isn’t big on verbal compliments or tactility. Instead, he gives those he cares for gifts. Small trinkets, pretty stones, polished and chipped off through water’s continuing force and with that also flowers. Keiji does not hand out flowers often, and Chiaki has only seen herself and Koutarou receive any. He’d hand them to them with shaking hands and his eyes downcast at first. Worried that they wouldn’t want flowers his magic had grown, but Koutarou and Chiaki had never batted an eye at it. They’d accepted Keiji’s flowers with open arms. Seen their vibrant, almost unnatural colours, and taken it for the sign of love that it was.

Hajime had told Chiaki that the entire mountain was Keiji’s domain, and with the ever-growing pile of flowers that Keiji brought Koutarou on his birthdays, her heart warms because Keiji loves them enough to give them a part of himself.

* * *

Koutarou turns ten on a quiet day. The sky is an icy blue, no cloud to be seen and a watery sun lighting up the world. The day can’t be considered warm, but it’s tranquil, soft even. Sunlight makes the world paler and Koutarou, finally having reached the tens, glows the brightest of all.

With age comes a certain maturity, but Koutarou has never lost his childlike wonder. He’s lived a life void of most hardships. Even when money was tight sometimes, he never went to bed hungry, he always had someone to play with and there were new areas of his surroundings to discover every day when he got bored. He is content beyond his years and sometimes this little boy, but a few years away from puberty, wonders where all his happiness goes when he can no longer contain it. He wonders if the unadulterated joy he feels, the type to make him feel so _full_ that he can’t help but laugh and scream and shout. The one that means he can’t help but run at Keiji full speed and embrace him, can’t help but smile and live and _laugh_. Like the sun is inside of him and burning him up from the inside out, and he can’t help but emit the heat and light of it. He wonders if that excess joy is stored somewhere. If it is accepted by the universe and locked in a vault and then pours from the stars back into him on days when he needs it so he can generate that same pouring happiness again.

If that’s the case Koutarou is stacking up those reserves today more than he ever thought he could. He hasn’t been able to keep the smile off his face since Keiji woke him up that morning and now near the end of the day, when they’re moving up to Keiji’s lake to picnic next to it, his cheeks hurt because of how much he’s smiled today.

And when they complete the trip to the mountain’s summit, the smiling will not stop. 

Keiji. Sweet, considerate, ethereal Keiji has taken Koutarou’s favourite flower, Lacecap Hydrangea, and covered his soul in it. 

As far as the eye can see Keiji’s lake is filled with the deep blue blooms that have always reminded Koutarou of Keiji’s eyes at dusk, when there isn’t enough light yet to make them flicker between different shades of blue.

The flowers form a blanket atop the water, shifting only as one at Keiji’s back and call. Neither Chiaki nor Koutarou have ever seen something so beautiful. Keiji’s body pulses a pale blue. His black, white and gold cloak floats around him a little. Lifting up ever so slightly, billowing around his knobbly knees, and then descending once again to cover them. Little instances of divinity that draw Koutarou’s eyes time and time again.

They sit next to the lake, Koutarou squished in between his mother and his Keiji, staring out onto a lake of his favourite flowers as the sun makes a slow descent behind them. In all his years of overwhelming, unstoppable joy, nothing compares to the full-body tingling that overtakes him the evening of his tenth birthday.

His body is so filled with joy that he will remember this day, this particular scenes for the rest of his life as a sign of his purest happiness. The most joy he has ever felt. The highlight of his childhood. He will forever remember how he held Keiji’s hand, how delicate his soft knuckles felt in Koutarou’s slightly bigger hands. 

He will never forget how he sat, pressed against Keiji’s side, skin to skin, and it felt like being struck by lightning every time Keiji shifted. Koutarou will forever remember how warm Keiji was, how soft and comfortable. How he felt like home just as much as his mother on the other side.

Bokuto Koutarou will also remember how he held his mother’s hand. How much bigger they were than his, still. How much rougher and calloused due to years of hard work. How her dark black hair was starting to slowly become streaked with grey, elegant lines cutting through the darkness. He will never forget how it felt to half lean in her lap. To be embraced by her. To softly hear her whisper, “Koutarou, my golden boy, I love you more than life itself.”

Bokuto Koutarou is beyond ecstatic on his tenth birthday. Beyond the convinces of a word like joy and it is all because of the two people who mean more to him than anyone else ever could. 

Koutarou turns ten on a quiet day, but the excited beating of his heart is louder than the world around him. Louder than anything as silly as Fate or Destiny.

Louder than any of the hidden worries the Gods may have.

* * *

All good things cannot last.

* * *

It starts the day before Keiji’s birthday, when they’re walking back from the market. It snowed the night before, earlier in the year than expected, and it covered the world in a thick white layer. Making the world seem bright as any summer day, even with the watery sunlight. The air is crisp and cold, their breaths coming out in small clouds.

The world around them smells like the onset of winter. Fresh and cold, filling their lungs with life-giving breath. It makes the three figures more awake, their backs straight and their heads held up high. A spring in their step as they walk up the mountain. Their laughter carrying through the forest, shaking all things dead and making them hope for spring to come quicker so they may experience this joy from close by.

A mother and her two children. Walking with heavy bags up an uninhabited mountain. Unsuspecting and innocent. Easily ambushed. Weak.

Small children’s limbs break easily. Women’s necks snap with easy. Leaving people for dead can be done in the blink of an eye, if no one sees it coming. There is no father or other man in sight. They do not seem to possess any weapons. They are followed to a small wooden home in a clearing, unprotected and easily encircled. There is nothing but woods around them, and trees cannot talk.

Plans are made.

* * *

Goosebumps along his arms and neck wake Eita up. Satori is next to him, wide awake and trembling but a big monkey with dark coarse fur, a satori, for which Satori himself was named, sits on his chest. Stopping him from getting up.

Eita himself is tied down by Fate’s golden thread. It holds down his limbs and keeps his jaw shut.

He cannot scream for help. He cannot tell Tooru or notify any of the other Gods that tonight is the night.

Tonight is the night Fate’s cruel grasp will rip apart Keiji’s and Koutarou’s tranquil childhood.

* * *

Chiaki goes to bed that night feeling the slightest bit uneasy. She isn’t sure why, but she is compelled to press a kiss to both her boy’s foreheads. Hugging them extra tight and whispering how much she loves them into their hair.

Keiji turns nine in a few hours and ever since her conversation with Tooru and Hajime, she’s imagined that to be the beginning of the end.

She hopes to wake up tomorrow and find that this is not the case.

* * *

Disaster starts small. It creeps through the woods, laughing quietly under its breath. It gestures to its buddies and fantasizes about a dead mother and her children, about a world reduced to smoke and ash, money and charred fabrics dragged from the ruins. 

There is no worth in a small wooden mountain house, no worth in the lives of those who live there, but there is worth in notoriety and infamy. There is worth in death for the sake of death when you are losing ground and need the world to remember that you ruled the roads once. That you were the one who instilled fear in all those who travelled, far and wide. To remind the world that they might have forgotten you and yours and made you ghosts of the past, but ghosts will haunt the living before passing on to the far shore.

And they are not ghosts, they are _demons_.

Disaster starts small, with the spark of flint on steel. The low rough rasp as it strikes and then the slight heat. The soft glow of the fire as it lights, taking in its first breaths of air, looking for anything to make it grow stronger. Finding nothing until it is pressed to fragile wood and starts to satiate its appetite.

The bandits position themselves at the exits. Blocking the door and the single window next to it with their bodies, there will be no one surviving the night but them.

They will make sure of it.

It is with bated breath that they wait and watch for the first of the dying to wake up, and when she does, frantic and panicked, they smile.

* * *

Waking up tends to happen slowly. With the scrunching of eyes or the twitch of a finger. With a softness, to introduce you to the reality of the world.

This time Keiji wakes up coughing. Smoke entering his lungs and seeping into his bloodstream, stripping his body of air. When he opens his eyes they burn, and although he can hear Koutarou and Chiaki around him, he cannot place them. Too disoriented by the sound of wood burning, and the thickening smoke, and the orange glow of fire. 

The stifling heat makes his head stuffy. Keiji doesn’t know how this could’ve happened.

When he went to bed, there was no fire. No scorching heat, just the comfortable warmth of Koutarou’s arms around him and the tingles of excitement at the prospect of his birthday.

There is no comfort now. Just Keiji reaching blindly for his family. Standing up, off-kilter and trying to find those dearest to his heart.

Their home isn’t big by any means, yet with the flames creeping up in Keiji’s peripherals it seems even smaller. There is no escape from the hungry maws, there is fire and they will get burned. 

Keiji cannot hear or see Chiaki or Koutarou. He is surrounded by flame and smoke, his eyes burn and his nose hurts. His throat is dry, and it’s as if his entire body is falling apart. Dry and chipped, falling off of him till there is nothing left.

He opens his mouth to call out and coughs again, too much smoke in the air for him to speak. 

_He can’t breathe_.

There is no air to be found in his lungs, his vocal cords are dry and scratchy, and yet he tries to call out through the coughing.

“Koutarou,” he yells, doubling over, “Chiaki-san,” but there is no response beyond the steadily crescendoing sound of flames. He tries again, calling out with desperation, putting his all into these shouted words, whilst he tries to move towards where he believes the door is.

He calls out, but he’s not sure if his voice can be heard over the roar of flame. The longer he stands and wanders, the dizzier he becomes. Disoriented due to the smoke. 

He should’ve found Chiaki and Koutarou by now. Their home being as small as it is, that he has yet to discover a sign of them is something he chooses to ignore.

“Koutarou!” he calls out again and this time he is stopped before he can scream again by a body, slightly taller than his own wrapping itself around him.

Keiji gives himself a single moment to melt into Koutarou’s embrace, but a few moments to let his guard down and simply revel in the fact that he found him and that he’s _alive_.

Then the reality of their situation comes crashing back into him and he is once more filled with urgency.

The fire is spreading, eating up more of their belongings with every passing second. Ruining Keiji’s childhood home with no concern for those who inhabit it. 

Koutarou grabs him by the arm and pulls him forward, his grip like a vice, even as tears run down his face and his limbs tremble.

They find Chiaki slumped against the door. Smoke making it harder and harder for them to breathe, and she stumbles when she stands up again.

“Stay close to the ground,” she rasps at them and Koutarou and Keiji follow her instructions, huddling together under the window. Holding each other’s hands tight as the fire eats more and more of their home.

From the corner of his teary eyes, through the smoke and ash, Keiji can faintly make out a silhouette standing behind the window.

In his mind he is desperate for a saviour, desperate for it to be Tooru or Hajime or Kiyoko, affiliated with water as they are, come down from the heavens to rescue him and those he holds dearest to his heart. But the silhouette doesn’t move and despair broils low in Keiji’s stomach.

Chiaki is the only one of them still standing. She has drawn herself up to full height and takes unbalanced steps as she slams against the door, calling out for help, and asking to be let out.

The door stays shut tight, and Keiji swears he can see the silhouette behind the window shake, like the figure is laughing.

There’s something bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

The only sounds surrounding them are the roar of the fire, the crackling of burning wood and Chiaki’s pleading.

She repeats, “Please, please, _please_ ,” voice steadily climbing higher until she’s in hysterics. Her voice tapers and rasps, unravels at the edges as she pleads and slams against the door.

“ _Please let us out_ ,” she cries, voice breaking and distressed. She utters the last words and devolves into a loud coughing fit, slumping against the door as her body is wracked by cough after cough.

Koutarou and Keiji hold each other tighter, focusing on each other and Chiaki instead of the ever-expanding fire. 

They watch their mother slide towards the ground and without thinking they both rush towards her, still holding the other tight. 

If these are their final moments together, they want to spend them close together.

They clamp onto Chiaki, ash covers her face, the greyness only being interrupted by tear tracks. Her eyes are wide as she looks at them, realising that they’ve left their spot near the window to come and be with her.

So many emotions flit over her face that neither of the boys can decipher them. Her face contorts itself unnaturally to accommodate all of them and for a second, just a moment, her eyes convey such sorrow that it makes something within Keiji _break_.

It feels like something fatal, because once she gets her face under control again, she smiles at them and it’s like she’s saying goodbye.

She reaches for the two of them. Cups their cheeks with both her hands and plants a shaking kiss to their foreheads. Keiji can feel a tear fall on his forehead and roll down his face, it gets mixed in with the sweat covering the rest of his body but he wishes he could cherish it. Cherish every last bit of Chiaki he can still grasp.

Chiaki pulls them against her, wraps the two of them up in her arms and tries to pull them both onto her lap like she used to do when they were younger.

Her boys are too big for that now, but they’re still so frighteningly young. Too young for death’s embrace to welcome either of them.

They are huddled together, a family in their last moments. Resigned to the end.

This is when the door to their coffin opens.

First, they think they’ve been saved. 

Keiji hopes that Tooru and Hajime have found them, defeated those icky silhouettes standing outside their home and come to douse the flames with calm water. He watches the door open and hopes to catch a glimpse of teal and white. To see the flowing fabric of their cloaks and then see long fingers reaching for him.

Instead, he sees a man he does not recognize. Clothed in black, with most of his face covered. All Keiji can see is dead black eyes set in a face with skin as pale as moonlight.

For one naïve moment Keiji wants to believe that this man will help them. Then he reaches into their home and drags Chiaki outside by her hair. His grip is tight, hand balled into a fist as he drags her backwards. She tries to hold on to Keiji and Koutarou but someone else grabs each boy by the wrist, detangling them from her and roughly dragging them outside.

The cool night air is infinitely better than the painful, scorching heat inside the house, but Keiji does not feel safer now that he is no longer being hunted by the flames.

The man who first opened the door, Keiji assumes that he’s the leader, drags Chiaki further away from them. She’s kicking and screaming, moving around and reaching for them, desperate.

“My children,” she screams, “ _Don’t take me away from my children_.”

The man laughs and as she continues screaming, he clamps her mouth shut with one hand, lifting her by the throat with the other.

Keiji and Koutarou can only watch as she’s choked till her eyes roll to the back of her head and her body goes limp.

The man drops her body like a sack of potatoes and motions for one of his men to come closer.

Keiji is frozen in time, unable to move, just watching intently as the men pour something over Chiaki’s body. 

Koutarou is struggling in the grip of the man holding the both of them. 

Calling out over and over again, “ _Okaasan! Okaasan!_ ” but Chiaki does not respond.

There’s a roar starting up in Keiji’s head, drowning out all other sounds slowly but steadily.

As it swells, so does the churning in his gut.

Koutarou manages to escape the man’s grasp, and Keiji’s stomach lurches. Then his best friend gets smacked against the back of the head and Koutarou does not get up again.

He doesn’t even twitch, and Keiji’s frozen body is shocked into motion.

His vocal cords remember their function and he lets out a gut wrenching scream. 

High pitched and filled with all the anguish a freshly nine-year-old boy can express. His home burning behind him, his best friend unmoving on the ground. His mother figure unmoving too.

His scream pierces the heavens and beckons dark clouds to form. At the top of the mountain, his lake churns. Foaming and frothing, trying to break out from its shores and rush towards the God it holds most dear.

Keiji _screams_ but the bandits ignore him, continuing their business.

The man holding him asks one of the others if he can “shut this fucking brat up,” and the leader grunts the affirmative.

His hand reaches for Keiji, who is watching Chiaki and Koutarou in front of him. No regards for his personal safety.

The man’s hand closes around Keiji’s throat and that is when the bandit leader scrapes his knife against a piece of flint and Chiaki’s body goes up in flames.

Chiaki wakes up and starts to _scream_ . She screams and screams and _screams_ but the bandits do not help her. Koutarou does not wake up. All Keiji can do is watch whilst the breath is being stolen from his body.

Chiaki’s burning body _screams_ and the churning in Keiji’s stomach reaches its fever pitch. The roar in his ears louder than the screaming, but he can still hear it.

Faintly, as he watches her body twitch. Sees her bones crack and move. Sees her trash around as she melts. Watches the woman who took care of him since birth, burn alive.

The wind picks up, the sky darkens further.

Keiji does not feel. Does not exist on the mortal plain anymore.

The man who’s trying to choke him out drops him like he’s been burned. The moment Keiji hits the ground, he lets out a guttural scream. Letting it mix with the sounds coming from Chiaki’s burning corpse.

The sky breaks open. Rain pours down like heaven itself is weeping. Like the sky can feel the grief of a young child watching his world burn and cries with him in solidarity.

The bandits are drenched in seconds. Unable to see each other through the thick curtain of rain, even though they are mere metres apart.

Keiji’s body glows like a beacon in the night with pale blue light. Flickering in and out rapidly.

His cloak appears around his shaking shoulders, lighting up with him and making the small child look like the young grieving God he is.

His eyes glow with silent fury, and Keiji lifts his face to the heavens. His arms around himself as he screams and screams and _screams_. His tears mixing with the heavy rain.

From one second to the next, he stops screaming. The light surrounding him no longer pulses, but instead it is a single glow, encompassing him. He looks straight ahead where the bandit leader was and from one moment to the next he is in front of him. Pushing him aside without care and launching the man into the nearby woods.

None of the other bandits can see, the rain too heavy for them to perceive anything but each other’s silhouette.

The rain has doused Chiaki’s body, but it is too charred to be recognisable.

Keiji tries to touch the skin where her face used to be, but it falls apart under his caress.

Keiji stares at his hand, the ashes being washed off immediately by the rain and he thinks, _I want it all gone._

High up in the mountains, his lake churns and foams and as the thought crosses his mind it surpasses its shores flowing outwards like a breath that has been held in for too long.

Water starts flowing down the mountain. Rushing along its surface and taking everything in its path with it. Creating a course for itself. A river, running wild towards Keiji’s location and heading mercilessly for the kingdom down below.

Keiji is engulfed by water. He closes his eyes and lets his mortality go.

* * *

The water rushes down the mountain uncontrollably. Taking everything in its path with it. The bandits’ bodies float in it, drowned. Uprooted trees floating alongside them. 

The only two things safe amongst this griefing beast are a young boy, floating gently, and dissolving ashes, falling apart the longer the water touches them.

The heavy downpour feeds its rage as it rushes down the mountain straight for the unsuspecting sleeping kingdom.

It reaches the cities walls but does not tear them down, instead flowing up into a wave that stretches twice the height of the palace’s highest tower.

Right as it crashes, it splits. Surrounding the kingdom but not touching it.

Its people are spared. Most of the infrastructure mysteriously intact.

When the water subsides there is a boy lying in front of the city’s gate, small pieces of ashy charred fabric clinging to his ankles.

There is a river connecting a mountain lake to the sea.

There is a young god, floating at the bottom of his lake, unblessed and unascended. Eyes closed, wishing to never interact with the world again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.
> 
> I hope y'all still enjoyed it though. Cya next chapter.
> 
> Please inform me of any tags I should add or any triggers I should add to make this the least upsetting possible.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Hey. Wake up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!! This fic (and I) aren't dead!! Just uni kicking my ass like normal. I'll try sticking to consistent updates but like, I don't think it's gonna work out tbh.  
> This part of the story is just harder to write and I only have a vague idea of where I'm going. Please have patience with me.  
> Either way please enjoy this chapter and I wish you happy 2021!

“Hey, Hey. Wake up!” 

Shaking. Hands on his arm and shoulder. 

“Hey! Wake! Up!” 

Koutarou shifts and a low groan escapes his lips. It’s like his body’s been run over by horses. Like he’s made of one giant bruise and moving even a single muscle will cause excruciating pain.

The hands on his arm move to grasp his other shoulder. The person turns Koutarou on his back and hangs over him. Shaking him again.

“Come on, wake up!” 

Koutarou groans again, his arms flailing to get the person off of him.

The person chuckles and a rough hand, which smells like freshly baked bread, cups Koutarou’s cheek. Fingers gently caressing his face. 

There’s a flash of blue behind his dark eyelids. 

The person straddling him shifts themself around a bit until they’re sitting on his legs. He can feel their chin poke against his ribcage even as they continue their gentle caress.

“Come on Kou,” they say, “it’s time to get up.” Their voice is soft with love, care drips from every sternly spoken word, saccharine.

Koutarou groans again and tries to turn around, to shake the hands off of him and burrow back into his thin pillow and ratty blankets but to no avail. The person has a strong grip on him and once his struggle proves futile Koutarou slowly opens his eyes.

He smiles as he takes in the face of the one laying on his stomach. Half-lidded hazel eyes, one covered by unruly black hair. A Cheshire grin. Sharp features, and that strong yet gentle grip.

“Tetsu,” he says, fond. Voice still rough from sleep.

He lifts one hand to grab Tetsurou’s wrist and uses the other to cup his cheek, stroking his face the same way Tetsurou is doing to him. Tetsurou grabs his wrist as well and they stare at each other for a little while. Just watching the other breathe as sunlight filters through the window, bathing the both of them in its soft gentle light.

Tetsurou is the first to move and disrupt this gentle morning equilibrium. Reaching upwards to bring their faces together and gently pressing his lips to Koutarou’s. A kiss soft and velvety, like lush red rose petals. Tetsurou pulls back and Koutarou follows after him, grin on his lips. 

Their lips meet again and they’re both smiling. Young men, on the cusp of adulthood, happy in each other’s arms. 

They might have continued kissing for longer, might’ve done a little bit  _ more _ , but the two were interrupted by a loud banging on the door and a familiar voice mumbling, “If I open this door and neither of you has clothes on I’m telling Nekomata-sensei that you’re shacking up instead of doing your morning chores, and only one of you is exempt from doing those today.”

The two of them part, reluctantly.

“Kenmaaaa,” Tetsurou whines but he’s paid no mind as Kenma enters the room. Shared by him, Kuroo and the other two eldest at the orphanage. Four futons on the floor, in various states of neatness.

Kenma’s shoulders are hunched, and his hair hangs around his face like a curtain. Obscuring most of his face from view. He’s scribbling on a scroll, probably checking off the chores for Nekomata-sensei, face downturned. Koutarou knows he’s aware of them on the futon, just choosing not to acknowledge them.

“Get off each other, you’ve got work to do,” Kenma says curtly, the latter half of his statement aimed at Tetsurou. 

Tetsurou’s intent on not complying with Kenma’s wishes but Koutarou decides it’s enough for one morning. He sighs and rolls over forcing Tetsurou to move as well.

He sits up with a groan and pushes his hair out of his face. The silver, white and black strands are messy after a night’s sleep, covering his eyes and standing up every which way in the back. 

He gets up and stretches, his joints popping as he moves. Next to him, Tetsurou does the same before clamping onto Koutarou’s back as he folds his blankets and arranges his pillow.

“Sleeping in might be your birthday present but do know there probably isn’t any warm water left. Everyone else has already had their fill so figure out yourself what you want to do, as long as you get it done quickly,” Kenma says to him. “Oh, and Tetsurou? Stop slacking on your chores just to suck face or Morisuke is going to kick your ass.” Kenma turns around and leaves the room. 

Tetsurou, who froze at the mention of Morisuke, presses a quick kiss to Koutarou’s cheek before rushing out of the room as well. Off to the kitchen to continue helping Morisuke and Nobuyuki with preparing breakfast for everyone.

Once the door falls shut behind him Koutarou lets himself fall back onto his futon, groaning as his battered body hits the thin mattress. Limbs splayed out, eyes closed.

The only reason they’re letting him sleep in is because it’s his birthday today. He’s finally an adult and could, if he so pleased, leave the orphanage behind. 

It’s surreal to think he’s survived this long, found himself new people, a family, a  _ home _ . After everything. 

He thinks of his mother, of her soft black hair and warm brown eyes. How she’d hold him in her arms, pull him onto her lap, and stroke his hair. Softly humming random melodies as she rocked the two of them back and forth. How she’d press his clothes with flowers and take him with her to the markets. 

These happy memories are always undercut by the smell of smoke, by scorching heat and a swift strike to the head. His memories of that day are blurry and most of his memories from before then are scrambled too, the details indiscernible, but he remembers running towards his mother as she lay on the ground. Remembers the force with which he was hit against the back of the head, the sharp overwhelming pain of it and then nothing.

Not even the faintest sensation left, just a void, and the never-ending ominous feeling he’s forgotten something important.

His next memory after that, the first one that’s clear and focused, is of Tetsurou’s face. Bending over him with wide hazel eyes. One eye obscured by messy hair and dressed in a shoddy red shirt, too big for his small frame. His face was gaunt and his body thin and malnourished, his fingers bony as he shook Koutarou awake. 

When Koutarou opened his eyes Tetsurou smiled and it almost felt like coming home. 

The rest was—not really—history. 

Tetsurou found him at the city’s gate and dragged him inside, half pulling him onto his back to bring him in. 

Koutarou’d been so disoriented that he hadn’t recognized the city’s gate nor the streets he’d walked so many times before. 

From what Tetsurou tells him off that day—he can’t remember the first week after the incident for the life of him—he’d been asking after his mother. Crying and upset.

Apparently, when Tetsurou’d told him he didn’t know where his mother was Koutarou had asked after someone named Keiji instead. He’d seemingly asked for them a lot that first day. With the same desperation he’d asked for his mother. Wailing his name and upset, but after a night’s sleep he never brought the name up again. Looking at Tetsurou in confusion when he’d tried to bring it up.

He continued asking after his mother though, less and less as time progressed, but even now after he’s had a particularly bad nightmare he’ll wake up with ‘ _ Okaasan _ ’ on his lips, wishing for someone to hold him in their arms and softly run their fingers through his hair.

He’s been trying to jog his memory ever since Tetsurou told him how he called out this ‘Keiji’-person’s name, trying to recall who they might be and why they’re significant enough he’d ask for them just as frequently as he asked for his mother.

The only thing his mind has been able to conjure up is the faintest hint of blue and the smell of sweet water.

Nothing as useful as a specific person, just these faint sensations and the persistent feeling that something’s missing.

Like this ‘Keiji’ is someone important and he should remember them, but his stupid brain just can’t.

It’s strange though, he knows him and his mother always lived alone, no father or anyone else in sight. Just the two of them at the top of the mountain until the bandits came.

There’s never been anyone else, this is what his mind tells him, yet the thought feels somehow untrue. 

He shakes his head, leaving this particular set of thoughts behind and makes his way towards the bath, wishing that there’ll miraculously be some warm water left.

He’s thought about who ‘Keiji’ might’ve been many times over the years, but it’s never gotten him anywhere, maybe it’s time for him to let it go. 

He’s happy now and if this person was important enough perhaps one day they’ll meet again.

* * *

When he reaches the bath, the chill of the room shatters any delusions about warm water. The tiles are cold on his bare feet, and the chilly water with which he cleans himself provides no reprieve for his sore muscles from the day before, only making them tense more. 

He slips into the bath anyway, sinks in as quickly as possible to get his body used to the cold. He’s completely tense, shivers running through his body, at first but he forces himself to relax. Once his body becomes accustomed to the change in temperature the relaxation comes a bit easier and he closes his eyes, letting the cold wake him up. 

It’s a birthday tradition for those turning eighteen in Nekoma orphanage that has led to his current sore state. 

As always they’d held a competition. First doing various races and menial tasks before moving on to the large sparring contest that always takes place near the end of the morning the day before someone's birthday. Koutarou isn’t the oldest of the children at the orphanage but he’s the tallest and the strongest so the brackets had consisted of him versus the other kids in groups of two or three divided by age group. 

He’d gone up against Akane, Tamahiko and Yuuki first, not putting up a fight as they stormed him. A few of them—Kenma, Shouhei and Nobuyuki—hadn’t wanted to participate so they’d refereed instead. None of the sparring had been anywhere near serious till he fought Tetsurou, the two of them rolling around in the dirt and grappling with each other. Their long fight culminating in a make-out session that Morisuke ended by dragging Tetsurou off of him.

He’d fought Morisuke last, and although the guy is twenty centimetres shorter than him Koutarou gets his ass handed to him in seconds. Kicked in the back of the knees and then punched in the stomach, Koutarou hadn’t stood a chance.

Tetsurou helped him up and he and Morisuke shook hands, comically formal for how long they’ve known each other. Morisuke has been the reigning champion of their informal wrestling tourney and Koutarou imagines no one will ever take this title from him. It's fun to try, though.

They’d all gotten cleaned up together outside, pouring buckets of cold water over themselves to wash the worst of the dirt off before soaking in the bath and getting into clean clothes.

The afternoon had been spent doing what he does every day, running errands around the town, helping everyone he came across that was in need of an extra set of hands.

They make ends meet in the orphanage through odd jobs.

Morisuke’s cooking brings in quite some money, some of his recipes have even been sold to local eateries. Koutarou and Nobuyuki run errands and, although they offer their help freely and do not ask for compensation, they sometimes get some money out of it. Kuroo and Kenma have other odd jobs together with Nekomata-sensei that bring in an income and all the youngest kids do chores around the house, sometimes helping out local merchants at the market for some extra pocket money.

Normally Koutarou paces himself with the errands he undertakes but not yesterday, high on the adrenaline of the proximity of his birthday he’d been out all afternoon and evening. Carrying people’s belongings and helping them with their projects till dinner time and past it.

Now his body pays the price.

He gets out of the bath slowly. Drying off and pulling on the clothes left in the cupboard near the entrance. He’s still sore but the cold water has also made him feel strangely rejuvenated.

As he gets dressed and makes his way downstairs his mind wanders.

Wanders to the hours spent at the market with Tetsurou when he was younger, running between stalls and helping the merchants sell their goods for some extra change, till he got old and strong enough to help them load their merchandise instead.

It has him thinking about how differently his relationship with the market started out, how, at first, his reintroduction had been tainted by sorrow and overwhelming grief.

He can clearly remember how, the first time Tetsurou proposed to take him to the market, he'd refused. 

It’d been something he did with his mother, and it felt like a betrayal, the idea of going without her. She’d bring her fabrics with her and he’d help set up her stall (once he turned seven). He’d sit next to her as she sold her wares, staring at the intricate patterns on the fabrics she’d woven herself. Talking to a customer only when they asked him something and occasionally talking to his mother when business slowed. 

They hadn’t been private moments but they’d felt as such when he snuggled close to her, when customers slowed, wrapped up in her arms as she called him her ‘princeling destined for greatness’. 

The memories coloured rose-gold in fondness, warm like his mother was every day of her life.

The second time Tetsurou offered to take him to the market Koutarou accepted. 

It’d been almost a year since he’d come to live with them. A year in which Nekoma orphanage became his home. In which he got used to waking up with the sun and having his own set of chores, making himself useful. 

He’d befriended all of the other children, starting with Tetsurou and then as the months progressed and he slowly started reaching out to others more he befriended Morisuke and Nobuyuki. Talking to Kenma more because of his connection to Tetsurou and then befriending Shouhei, Taketora, Sou, Lev, Yuuki, Tamahiko and Akane by the end of the year as he started handling his grief and learning how to move on. 

At first he’d felt terrible for enjoying anything with his mother gone, guilty and regretful that he could no longer share his happiness with her, not wanting it to appear as if he was forgetting about her.

Taking Tetsurou up on his offer to go to the market changed his perspective.

Stepping foot on the familiar market grounds had almost been like coming home. 

The stalls still looked the same, with the same goods and wares. The same people who Koutarou recognized behind them, offering help to customers and selling their goods.

“Hey, little one with the golden eyes!” a woman had called out to him, she’d stood behind a stall selling ornate flowers, beautifully arranged into bouquets that told their own stories. Koutarou had been startled to realize she remembered him but he’d turned to her eagerly, hoping for a semblance of the familiar, for something that reminded him of before. That could perhaps provide the same comfort as home had. 

“Hello,” he’d said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster—back then it hadn’t been much—and the woman’s face had fallen a little.

“What happened to your mother and the little blue-eyed boy that was always with you?” she asked tentatively. Koutarou averted his eyes, looking at his feet to stall the burn and stop the tears from building up behind his eyes.

“She passed,” Tetsurou said from behind him, putting a hand on Koutarou’s shoulder and pulling him into his side. The familiarity of Tetsurou’s body calmed his agitated mind and after a moment he was able to let the tension drain out of his body.

The woman covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes round as saucers. She stepped from behind her stall, leaving it to one of her sons, and came up to them. Hugging Koutarou tight and ruffling his hair.

“You poor poor boy,” she’d said and held within her warm embrace, that reminded him so much of his mother’s arms, the dam broke through. Fat tears running down his cheeks.

News of Bokuto Chiaki’s passing spread around the market in seconds, as did the news that her son was back. At every single stall Koutarou was stopped, hugged, comforted in some way or other. Held and made to feel like he was coming home.

He spent the entire time wiping the tears from his eyes.

Sometimes the shop owners would ask after his ‘blue-eyed friend’, letting it go when Tetsurou quickly changed the subject and Koutarou stared at them in confusion, unsure who they might be referring to.

Thinking back on it now even that memory seems hazy. It’s as if he’s imagined people asking after someone with blue eyes. It’s such an uncommon colour around these parts, he’s sure he must’ve misheard or made it up.

He’s never been friends with anyone with blue eyes, not even met someone with blue eyes in passing. He can’t imagine knowing someone well enough to bring them to the market, one of his sacred places where he spent all that time with his mother. It’s even stranger that it’d be brought up and he can’t remember it now.

There’s nothing in his already jumbled memories that indicates anyone but him and his mother in his youth but when he thinks about it too long his head starts to hurt.

He cherishes every memory of him and his mother that he does have even more now because he can never make new ones.

He’s terrified of forgetting what her face looks like, devastated every time he can’t recall the exact sound of her voice. Scared he'll wake up one day and have forgotten her name.

He’d come back from that first visit to the market emotionally drained but it had been a necessary step in his grieving process. He’d been scrubbed raw, but there was also a weight lifted off his shoulders and he made his way back to the orphanage, Tetsurou at his side, with his head held high.

Old hurts cannot heal when one lets the wound fester. 

Koutarou rubs his eyes. He’s shivering a little from the cold, but knows whatever breakfast Morisuke and Nobuyuki are finishing up will warm him right up.

It’s strange to think that Bokuto Koutarou, a bonafide mama’s boy, brought up near the top of a mountain under his mother’s warm, protective wings, has managed to survive without her.

He’s got the people waiting for him downstairs to thank for that.

Their efforts in cheering him up, their easy acceptance, their love and now the comforting smell of miso soup, rice and grilled fish that meets him as he makes his way to the kitchen are part of what has allowed him to come this far. All these small kindnesses since he was a grieving 10-year-old have shaped him, and although he misses his mother dearly still, he thinks he might be truly happy like this too, someday.

* * *

He’s met with a chorus of, “Happy Birthday!” as he walks into the room. Even Kenma, who hates the fanfare of birthday celebrations, has joined in, if lacklustre in his delivery.

Koutarou would be so presumptuous as to call himself king of the world on days like these. 

When he’s wished a happy birthday by the people most important to him. When a hearty breakfast is set out on the table and everyone digs in excitedly after he’s taken his first bite and smiled. When he’s assigned the seat at the head of the table, a seat normally reserved for Nekomata-sensei. 

When, most importantly, Tetsurou sits right next to him and when Koutarou reaches for his hand Tetsurou reaches back without hesitation.

It’s that simple.

Although the things that have led him here aren’t simple at all.

Breakfast is finished quickly, for once there’s enough food for seconds and even thirds for him and a few of the younger kids who are finally hitting their growth spurts. It's courtesy of the townspeople with whom Nekomata-sensei has established a good report, that they have a little extra, a little more than they can truly afford when important dates come around.

The gesture is even more special in recent years. With the failing harvests and long periods of either drought or rain that wither and ruin the crops. The livestock has been affected too, getting sick or not producing products in their normal quantities. Many of the area’s native flowers have started to disappear as well and they've all been paying close attention to it, worried about its implications.

The change had come slowly but it’s made life for those without all that much money even harder, now that their sources of income are in jeopardy.

It’s as if the earth itself is poisoned and can no longer provide the necessary nutrition or that the air has changed and can no longer sustain life.

It’s worried them all to no end, but the people of the city’s outer ring stick together. 

They know that when all else fails they’ll keep each other afloat.

* * *

It’s after breakfast, when the kids go off to play and Koutarou does the dishes together with Morisuke, Nobuyuki and Tetsurou, waving away their protest, that the low rumbling sound of the King’s horns disrupts their morning.

They all drop what they’re doing and make their way outside, rushing towards the town’s square for the announcement important enough that the King has decreed the usage of these low announcement horns, their call so deep that they can shake the very earth, making their sound inescapable.

They filter into the square—a platform erected in the middle where soon the King will appear to address them—with all the other outer city inhabitants, holding each other’s hands so no one gets separated from their group in the commotion, and when they find a spot from where they can move no further forward they wait, curious for the King’s words.

It takes a while before the announcement finally starts, the King’s attendants watching as more people filter onto the square from all sorts of backstreets.

Koutarou and Tetsurou are both taller than most but in the swarm of people around them even they can’t be sure if there are still more coming or not.

It’s unsettling, alienating. Makes Koutarou feel like he’s crawling out of his skin like he’s one of the chickens they have back at the orphanage being cooped up in too narrow a space with all the others. Or like an intruder in a beehive, swarmed by bees that stick themselves all over his body and buzz and buzz against his skin till he’s boiled alive.

He falters, his vision shifts slightly to the side like he’s falling but he’s brought back upright. Tetsurou’s free hand clamped on his shoulder, the other squeezing his hand. Grounding him, putting his feet back on the ground.

Koutarou exhales, long, slow and shakes his head. The terror sliding off of him as he focuses on Tetsurou and the stage in front of them where one of the announcers makes a signal and the King slowly comes into view.

In all his years living in the city, Koutarou hasn’t really seen the King before.

The orphanage is located near the city’s walls and none of his chores or other errands have ever taken him close to the inner city nor the palace. He recognizes the King’s sigil, an owl perched on a branch, its head tilted to the side, but would not be able to recognize the man himself if it wasn’t made so obvious by the fanfare of the current situation.

Koutarou’s relatively close to the stage, close enough that looking up at the King strains his neck, but from this distance he can say with certainty that the King is average looking.

He might be swaddled in an ornate purple kimono, embroidered with golden flowers, but the face that goes with it is almost plain. 

Black hair pulled up into a top knot, held together with a purple silk wrap. Soft features, sagging with age. Warm brown eyes, a bit of a plump nose, thin lips that stretch even thinner when he lays his eyes upon the crowd and smiles.

It surprises Koutarou to notice that the King has laugh lines and crow’s feet, that he smiles with his entire face and seems genuinely happy to see his people. To address all these commoners that would normally never see him.

He wonders if the King has already made this same announcement in the inner city, where the rich reside, or if this is merely a commoner’s task, something akin to a draft where they’ll be recruited because they’re expendable.

“Dear citizens of Fukurodani,” the King starts, immediately the crowd falls silent as if even their breathing has stopped. The King’s voice carriers through the square, reaching even those at the far back, and echoes.

“I come to you on this bright morning to ask of you something akin to a favour, to bestow honour on many of you and help you in changing our lovely nation for the better,” the King pauses, the people lean forward in anticipation, hooked by the King’s words, hanging from his lips.

“As you know, I do not have an heir,” a low murmur starts up amongst the crowd, that shushes itself as the King continues speaking, “and therefore I have come to you.”

The King exhales, straightens himself further and from above the clouds break open. The sun shining down on him and letting his gold decorated robes sparkle.

“I call on every child which has turned or will turn eighteen this year, and I invoke one of Fukurodani’s age-old traditions, part of our culture since we were mere scavengers collecting scraps of divinity to bring back to the Gods, and tell you, you might become our future ruler.”

Silence sits amongst the people on the square as the King nods his head and leaves the stage, leaving his announcers to carry the rest of his message with the tedious details.

The words are slowly sinking in with Koutarou, slowly as if through molasses he hears them and then realizes any one of them. Nobuyuki, Morisuke, Tetsurou, He or any other eighteen or almost eighteen year old has now had the path leading them away from poverty and the streets opened for them.

A smile tugs at Koutarou’s mouth and slowly it turns into a giddy grin with teeth on full display, excitement so overpowering it might make him burst out of his skin.

He looks at Tetsurou, expecting to see the same excitement reflected on his face, but his expression freezes on his face. His exclamation of joy sticks itself to the back of his throat, he clamps his mouth shut.

Fat tears roll down Tetsurou’s face, as he stands perfectly still. Staring in the direction of the stage but not seeing anything.

When Koutarou tries to wipe a tear from his cheek he flinches and Koutarou’s face falls further. Tetsurou does come back to himself then, with a shudder, and he quickly wipes the tears from his face, slinging an arm around Koutarou’s shoulder and pulling him into his side like nothing is amiss.

Koutarou wants to ask him about it but refrains.

On the stage the announcer starts his speech.

“To those who are coming of age or have come of age in this year, the court of Fukurodani extends an invitation. An invitation that may make you the future ruler of our small empire, sat near the sea but grandiose in its history and reach.

We ask of you, chosen ones, first to attend a banquet and second to complete a multitude of tasks. The one who succeeds, quicker and better than the others, may call themself Fukurodani’s heir.

All other information shall be brought to you as the time comes.

You are dismissed.”

In a daze, they return to the orphanage, all thirteen of them holding hands, stuck close together like pearls on a necklace. The younger kids buzzing with excitement but the four of them who actually fit the criteria, silent and subdued. Lost in thought, looking anywhere but each other, nerves creeping along their spines.

No one said anything about not participating.

Whatever these tasks may be, they were mandatory, and they would be left dishonoured and forever ruined if they refused to partake.

Yet, Koutarou allows himself to daydream about what he’d do if he might win. About the changes he’d make, the money he’d give back to the people who selflessly took him in, who added a mouth to feed when there were so many already. Daydreams that he might give his mother a proper burial ceremony, or at least a priest to speak the rites properly unlike he’d done at age 10, stuttering and unrefined.

A part of him, so far removed from his main thoughts that he barely even realizes, daydreams about blue eyes and thinks that perhaps kingship will bring them back to him.

His daydreams end, a little abruptly when they arrive back at the orphanage. Enough time has passed that they need to start preparing lunch and after that take care of their midday chores. Everyone except for them is sent either upstairs or outside, tasked with cleaning their sleeping quarters or feeding the chickens. The four of them are told to finish washing the dishes in the sink.

“Afterwards we’ll talk,” Nekomata-sensei tells them, solemnly. 

Tetsurou still avoids his eyes and his uncharacteristic silence makes fear claw at Koutarou’s heart.

It’s like Tetsurou’s preparing for death, or as if he’s mourning someone who hasn’t even died yet but he’s sure their end is near. Nobuyuki and Morisuke do not look so devastated but they are silent too.

Serious in their contemplation and scarily efficient as they quickly finish off the dishes.

Normally they’ll wash them and tease each other, listening to the children running around outside and basking in a little bit of quiet at the start of the day.

On his birthday they tend to indulge him with these conversations even further, going along with his elaborate schemes and plans, where he imagines that the Gods visited him when he was young and that he has discoloured hair not from some genetic defunct or other but because Fate’s Watcher ran his fingers through his hair when Koutarou was but a child.

His stories get more elaborate and ridiculous as the years pass, he tells them he can breathe underwater, and that there’s a lake near where he used to live where he sat on the bottom as his mother waited above.

None of his stories ever made sense but on his birthday they wouldn’t shrug them off as his elaborate fantasies and instead play along with him.

He’s been told by all three of them in various instances that he’ll be a great bard someday, all he’ll have to do is work on his singing voice.

Today they break tradition, washing the dishes in chilling silence.

Still silent as they make their way to the table and take their seats, Nekomata-sensei sat at the head again.

The silence stretches around them, slowly suffocating Koutarou the longer he’s forced to sit in it.

He wants to talk about this, wants to be excited and bewildered and a multitude of other unexplainable emotions and he wants these to be echoed back to him. To be told he’s not strange for wanting this, for thinking about this seriously, for hoping that he might become someone  _ more _ again after all his  _ more _ -ness was taken when his mother died.

Yet no one speaks, and no one seems excited, and Koutarou is tempted to open his mouth himself and loudly proclaim his thoughts regardless of what the others think when Nekomata-sensei clears his throat.

Their eyes focus on him, his hair so pale it’s almost white, his eyes almost hidden because of his wrinkles, his face set in the same comforting smile day in day out.

He’s the closest thing to a parent all of them have at this point and they eagerly await his thoughts and opinions so they can place themselves in the world again, and make this new information make sense.

“It’s not uncommon for this Fukurodani tradition to take place,” Nekomata-sensei says and their shoulders relax a little.

“We haven’t had it in a while because even when the actual heir to the throne died some eighteen years ago he had his brother who was able to ascend the throne in his place. But the younger brother never had a spouse, never planned to have children at all. He was a scholar before he needed to become King and although he does his job well, romance or wooing has never been his priority. I suppose he’s truly getting older and wants to have an heir just in case something happens to him. I would not worry too much about the tasks that will come your way,” Nekomata-sensei laughs, “you are strong and capable young men, these tasks will cower when they hear who’s coming to complete them.” 

He smiles at them and with his self-assuredness, his confidence in his words and therefore his confidence in  _ them _ each boy, each  _ man _ , is comforted. That same confidence warms up their chests and makes them smile back at him.

Nekomata-sensei gets up from the table.

“Now shoo,” he says, “the banquet invitations will come soon and I imagine you feral animals should worry about that more than the task, not to forget that  lunch still has to be made.”

They get up too and Nekomata-sensei turns to Koutarou, looks him straight in the eyes and says, “And Koutarou, just because you’re the birthday boy doesn’t mean you will be excused from your midday and evening chores, it’s your turn on lunch duty with Morisuke today. No slacking off.”

Koutarou nods but Nekomata-sensei’s already turned his back on them, walking towards the door to check in on the children outside.

Even with Nekomata-sensei’s back turned to him Koutarou feels watched, or somehow seen through. Like the words just spoken to him mean more than they let on. Like Nekomata-sensei  _ knows _ more than he lets on.

It’s an absurd hunch, substantiated by nothing but the discomfort broiling in his stomach and therefore he dismisses it. 

He turns around and walks into the kitchen, where Morisuke is already waiting for him so they can cook.

Tetsurou still hasn’t spoken a single word to him and when he looks around the room, he spots Nobuyuki sweeping around the dining table but Tetsurou is nowhere in sight.

* * *

Koutarou doesn’t see Tetsurou until lunch is served and even when they have chores to finish at the same time, in the same area Tetsurou doesn’t look his way.

Doesn’t stop working to sneak a kiss, doesn’t pester him or poke him or tell him he’s slow whilst neglecting his own work.

They work in tandem, in completely and stifling silence.

Tetsurou barely acknowledges his existence and Koutarou wonders what he might have done wrong. What he might have missed or overlooked today, in those moments on the square for Tetsurou to treat him like this.

He wants to ask but doesn’t dare to. Terrified that he’ll speak but Tetsurou will pretend he hasn’t heard him.

So they complete their work in silence. Sit next to each other at lunch but do not talk nor do they hold hands under the table.

The others have noticed the shift in their dynamic as well but no one, not even Kenma, says anything. As if they know what Tetsurou’s upset about and want to give him something akin to space.

This is the only thing Koutarou does not like about Nekomata’s orphanage.

All the other children who have found shelter here are from the same village, far away. There were bandits and terrible fires and only the children and Nekomata-sensei survived. They were the only ones able to make their way to safety and re-establish themselves in this orphanage. They’ve known each other since childhood and have many unspoken rules that, even after all these years, Koutarou still doesn’t fully grasp.

With this he is, once again, reminded of his position as an outsider. Unable to understand the intricacies of a group as tight-knit as they are and also never invited into their innermost workings. He’ll never understand the severity of what losing their entire village has done to them, will never fully understand the tight bonds this has forged between them, but he wishes he could.

He eats his food, he smiles.

He does his chores, he smiles.

He laughs, as loud as he can muster, as joyfully as he can muster, when there’s cake set out for them at dinner. His favourite with blueberries that are incredibly hard to come by this time of year—and always, as of a few years ago.

He smiles and laughs and seems excited through all of this but it stings, like sewing needles pricking into his fingers over and over again.

* * *

Tetsurou climbs into Koutarou’s futon with him that night, and he’s almost embarrassed by the relief this simple action causes him.

They sleep in each other’s futons often but it’s a ritual they've had on his birthday ever since he came to the orphanage. When he was still grieving and disoriented and woke screaming for his mother every night.

He’d felt her loss most profoundly on his birthday, felt most abandoned and alone when he turned eleven and for the first time she was not by his side.

It had been Tetsurou then, who crawled into his futon with him, hugged him tightly, wrapped himself all around Koutarou like an octopus till his tears had stopped.

It’d been a silent decision that Tetsurou would do so again the next year when his mother’s loss would become too much for him.

Koutarou wanted to return to favour, so when Tetsurou’s birthday next rolled around he crawled underneath his covers instead and curled around him.

So their little tradition had been born and they’d stuck to it, never skipping a year. Providing the other comfort with something as easy to give as human touch.

The importance of that touch had shifted over time and when they were fourteen, holding each other so tight it hurt was a confirmation of the butterflies that would erupt in their stomachs.

Nowadays they sleep in each other’s arms more often than not. Tetsurou’s head nestled in the crook of Koutarou’s shoulder, Koutarou’s head resting on top of his. Secure in the other’s hold. 

Morisuke had often berated them when he caught one of them out of their futons, saying that if he so much as heard an unusual noise coming from either of them they’d be forced to sleep outside.

It’d only made them want to sleep in each other’s arms more, out of spite and because they loved the other’s body heat, loved the other’s firm hold, loved the roughness of the other’s hands on their bare arms or neck.

They took comfort in these touches, in these moments where the rest of the world did not exist, but the casual nature of their touch made Koutarou covet it more, made it more important to him, more liberating.

It made these birthday nights more special because of their prolonged existence, because of the stability of them, like a promise.

So when Tetsurou crawled under the covers next to him that night, when he whispered an apology as he kissed Koutarou on the cheek, when he laid his head in the crook of Koutarou’s shoulder, his hot breath tickling Koutarou’s collarbone and tangled their legs together Koutarou knew that it would all be fine, in the end.

* * *

The only light in his chamber comes from Fate’s golden threads, twirling frantically around each other in a dance only they understood, connecting themselves to one another before veering off in separate directions. 

One rushing towards the bottom of a lake, the other towards an orphanage.

“Please,” Eita begs, “ _ Please _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope y'all liked it and don't mind the time skip and all the other stuff, let me know your thoughts in the comments _or_ if you want to y'know @ me or talk some more come check me out on my freshly made twitter [@The_Gh0st_King](https://twitter.com/The_Gh0st_King) where I will try to keep people posted on my writing, will answer y'alls questions and have decided to hang out bc twitter fanart is amazing.
> 
> Once more happy new year cya the next update


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let The Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyo we got the next chapter, I hope you enjoy!!

The following day, Koutarou and Tetsurou are woken up by Morisuke, who pulls the blanket off of them in one fell swoop. When neither of them moves he kicks them in the legs for good measure. Nobuyuki’s already opened the curtains and when Koutarou opens his eyes the morning sunlight burns his retinas. He shifts, presses his face into the pillows and lets out a groan, still half asleep.

Morisuke unceremoniously drops the blanket at their feet and kicks Tetsurou—who still hasn’t moved yet—again. He groans.

“We’re back to our regular schedules, sleepy heads,” he says, voice too loud when they’re barely awake, “you idiots need to hurry up and wake the others,” he kicks them again, “get up, get showered and get the gremlins.” He claps his hands, kicks Tetsurou, who’s slowly coming to, in the shins because he wants to and walks out of the room. On his way to prepare their breakfast.

As usual, Koutarou is the first out of the two of them to rise. Stretching leisurely and listening to his joints pop. Then he turns back to Tetsurou, who’s still half asleep and therefore unashamed of the grabby hands he makes at Koutarou, and pulls him up. Pulls him straight into his chest, which Tetsurou immediately wraps his arms around, closing his eyes to get a few extra moments of sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbles into Koutarou’s neck, lips soft. Koutarou smiles and ruffles his already terrible bedhead. Tetsurou leans into the touch.

“Morning,” he mumbles back and slowly, with Tetsurou still half hanging off of him, he makes his way out the door and towards the baths.

The water in the baths is even colder than it was the day before. Not enough time has passed for the fire running below to heat it up, and it won’t be warm till the next batch of kids goes in to use the water. 

The four of them used to complain about it non-stop as children but they’ve gotten a little used to it since. It’s a sacrifice they’re all willing to make, even though it’s a bitch in winter.

Tetsurou continues to cling to him, even as Koutarou grabs two little stools and places them in front of the washing basin. Organizing soap and washcloths for easy use. 

“You can undress and wash me,” he mumbles half-asleep, and Koutarou sighs, but it fails to sound anything but achingly fond.

Most mornings, Tetsurou manages to wake up enough to wash himself, but this morning is not like most mornings, just as this day won’t be like most days.

He kicks one stool to the side and takes a seat on the other. Careful as he balances Tetsurou in his lap, but not careful enough because the two of them still nearly tip over.

He presses a kiss to the juncture between Tetsurou’s neck and shoulder, and lightly bites the skin, causing his love to shiver.

He smiles.

Slowly, with a feather-light touch, he undresses Tetsurou. Slips his thin sleepwear  _ yukata _ off his shoulders and lets his eyes linger on the freshly exposed skin. He trails his fingers along Tetsurou’s collarbone and pulls him closer.

Tetsurou rests his head on Koutarou’s shoulder, he’s awake now, beautiful hazel eyes staring up at Koutarou. His breathing is softer than when he’s asleep, warm breath tickling Koutarou’s neck and sending shivers down his spine.

Tetsurou’s yukata lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, Koutarou’s soon joins it and he turns the water on.

He washes Tetsurou first, slowly wets his skin and lathers it in soap, watching as the suds run down his body and disappear down the drain.

He cleans himself up quickly and pecks Tetsurou on the lips, before slowly getting up, his love still clinging to him. Movements languid even though he’s surely awake by now.

They stand together for a second, right before they start shuffling to the bath, and Koutarou just stares at him. Unabashedly, without even the slightest hint of shame, with a swelling feeling in his chest. Overwhelming, crashing over him like tall waves, quick as a river, running wild. 

They shuffle towards the bath, careful not to slip. Tetsurou’s awake and can walk on his own without problem but pretends to be tired and off-balance. Resting his head on Koutarou’s shoulder and slowing his movements.

He’s a warm weight against Koutarou’s back, comfortable and heavy, like  _ home _ .

When they reach the water basin Koutarou slips in with practised ease. His body tensed in preparation for the icy cold, sore muscles still protesting at the effort but comforted but soothed a little by the cold.

Tetsurou, on the other hand, is in for a nasty surprise when the cold water touches him.

Most mornings he’d at least be awake by now but today he’s got his eyes shut as he follows behind Koutarou, and therefore can’t prepare himself for the cold. It’s as if he’s forgotten that they’ve come here to bathe in icy cold water and not to cuddle.

As his foot touches the water and he sinks in up to his knee, he yelps. His body goes rigid and then his arms start flailing as he tries to scramble backwards. Koutarou knew this would happen and had adjusted his grip on Tetsurou right when he stepped into the bath. His hold is the only thing stopping Tetsurou from falling backwards and hitting his head, and it forces him further into the water.

Tetsurou clings to him again once he’s in. His knees pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around Koutarou as he shivers. He hides his face in Koutarou’s neck and tries to say something accusatory but the only noise that comes out of his mouth are huffs in-between the loud and consistent chattering of his teeth.

Koutarou puts an arm around Tetsurou’s shoulder and pulls him closer into his side. Trying to share what little body heat he’s retained from the cold bath. He’s always been better at withstanding these frigid temperatures than Tetsurou, who would start kicking and screaming when it was bath time when they were younger. After eight years Koutarou figured Tetsurou would be at least a little used to the chilling temperatures but he’s just as resistant to them as he was as a kid.

His revulsion reminds Koutarou of the alley cats hissing at puddles of water after rainfall like the water has personally offended them.

Morisuke never had any patience for Tetsurou’s ‘antics’, as he called them and even Nobuyuki became exasperated with the effort it took to get Tetsurou into the bath. Koutarou never minded, happy to spend extra time with his best friend as a child, and later it became a moment of intimacy between them. Wet skin against wet skin, chilly cold that encouraged huddling for warmth and the person he loved, all the things Koutarou needed, given freely and easily found.

There’s something abnormal about these mornings at times. Sometimes when he’s still sleepy, still tired and dangling between sleeping and dreaming, even after he’s stepped into the bath he imagines that he’s submerged in the water. That he’s so far down that he can’t determine which way is up or which way is down.

He’s never scared in these hallucinations, feels sheltered instead, comforted by a blue glow he can only discern from the corners of his eyes and which disappears the moment he tries to look for it.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and gets out of the bath. Dragging Tetsurou behind him as they shuffle towards their towels and slip into fresh clothes.

Time to wake the next batch of kids.

* * *

The room Kenma, Shouhei and Taketora share is just down the hall from the washroom, a bit smaller than theirs but laid out in much the same way. A small window with thin curtains on the other side of the room, a small dresser in one corner, a hamper filled to the brim with dirty clothes in the other.

The only difference in their rooms is how the futons have been arranged.

Kenma’s all the way in the corner furthest away from both the door and the window. Back turned to the rest of the room and head covered by his blankets. Shouhei’s right underneath the window, sprawled out along the wall, face down in his pillow and blanket covering his entire body except for his feet. Taketora’s got the middle of the room, futon laid out without it touching any walls, his blanket lies next to him in a pathetic heap and he’s sprawled out so chaotically Koutarou wonders how he isn’t in pain.

Whenever he sees them asleep like this, he’s reminded of the little nine-year-olds who wouldn’t go to bed unless Tetsurou and Koutarou gave them their undivided attention. Falling asleep ten minutes into whatever tale they’d be telling and waking up the following morning just like this.

They’re older now, seventeen, just a year away from coming of age, but in Koutarou’s mind they’ll never stop being the nine-year-olds he met eight years ago. A band of three even though Kenma and Taketora pretended not to like each other, spending their time together when their chores were finished and playing hide and seek till it was bedtime—Kenma always won. Shouhei and Taketora were the only people Kenma ever abandoned Kuroo for, even though the abandonment was mutual once Koutarou started crawling out of his shell.

Tetsurou makes his way over to the corner where Kenma’s sleeping and Koutarou goes straight for the window, pulling the curtains aside with such force it makes the wooden railing creak and groan, bending a little because of the force he applied. 

The room is bathed in sunlight, golden and mesmerising. Turning the wooden windowsill into something beautiful and painting Koutarou’s skin a warm brown. The sunlight is watery, due to winter’s swift approach, but its light caress is enough to warm Koutarou’s skin. 

He steps out of the light reluctantly, letting it fill the room, and soon after Shouhei and Taketora open their eyes. Groaning a little bit sitting up without too much problem. Taking a few moments to rub the sleep from their eyes before getting up and making their beds.

Kenma’s always been the hardest to wake up, he’s a light sleeper but just doesn’t like getting up and refuses to listen to anyone but Tetsurou when it’s early in the morning.

After getting scratched by nine-year-old Kenma once Koutarou’s always left waking him up to Tetsurou. Instead, taking it upon himself to usher Shouhei and Taketora towards the washroom before going to wake the kids in the last room. 

The last group is the easiest to wake up.

Lev, Sou and Tamahiko are morning people and are, on occasion, up before he even comes to wake them. They’re only mindful of not being too loud when it’s this early and the prospect of waking Akane and Yuuki before it’s time to wake up exists.

They’re special cases, like Kenma, and although they’re the youngest and shortest respectively everyone is at least a little scared of them in the mornings.

The only people who’ve got nothing to fear are Taketora and Sou, who’ve taken it upon themselves to wake their favourite people and therefore prevent Koutarou from enduring bodily harm.

All he has to do is open the curtain, shake Lev. Tamahiko and Sou awake if they aren’t yet and they’ll fix themselves up. 

Tamahiko and Lev will make their beds before rushing to the baths where yelling will ensue because Lev’s hit his on the doorframe again because he’s still not completely used to his new height.

Sou will carefully make his way to Yuuki, who sleeps across from him, and shake him awake. Draping the other boy across his back before half-carrying him towards the washroom. Yuuki tends to wake up along the way but he never stops leaning on Sou.

Akane always gets to sleep the longest out of all of them. Taketora tends to be the last one out of the baths. Wrangling Lev and making sure Kenma doesn’t doze off in the water and drowns. Once everyone else has vacated the washroom he’ll come in to pick up his sister, first lifting her into his arms and only then starting to wake her up.

Akane’s already thirteen, and sometimes she’ll complain that she’s become too old to be babied like this, but the way she snuggles into her brother’s embrace tells Koutarou otherwise.

It’d been an adorable sight when he first came to the orphanage. Sou carrying Yuuki from his bed to the washroom and still holding him up as they made their way down the stairs for breakfast. Even then Sou had been taller than Yuuki, and although he was barely strong enough to hold his friend up he tried with all his might. Taketora had been much the same. Nine-years-old and convinced he was strong enough to carry his five-year-old sister. He’d carried her to the washroom and down the stairs every morning, even though his legs shook with every step and his breathing came out laboured.

It’d sent a twinge through Koutarou’s body back then. Made him miss the sensation of a familiar weight held in his arms, the feeling of someone’s head resting on his shoulder, of warm breath tickling his skin. The feeling of someone draped across his back, their legs wound around his torso.

It’d been a twinge that turned into a strange ache for something he couldn’t have experienced. He was an only child. He’d never had someone to carry, just someone to carry him.

Yet, he yearned for that sensation as he watched the two pairs every morning, familiar with each other and clearly content.

Tetsurou noticed his yearning, noticed the way his eyes would linger on them when they went to wake them up in the morning and when he flung himself across Koutarou’s back for the first time and murmured, “Carry me,” giddiness had spread through Koutarou’s body from his heart outwards, like it was being pumped around by his blood. Tetsurou’d been so  _ warm _ , his presence a constant in those early days and all the tension had flowed out of Koutarou’s body. The yearning dissipated as he carried Tetsurou to the washroom for the first time, and disappeared completely as it became part of their routine from then onwards.

The warmth from that first time become a constant and slowly settled in his bones till just the fluttering touch of Tetsurou’s finger set his body ablaze. And Koutarou realised this was someone he couldn’t do without. 

He’s shaken out of his contemplations when Taketora walks into the room, kneels down next to his sister and picks her up without any of the struggles his nine-year-old self used to have. She wraps her arms around him and mumbles something into his neck. Taketora laughs and says, “how will you grow big enough to carry me if you’re not awake and showered to eat your breakfast?”

She groans.

Koutarou chuckles and follows them out of the room.

Tetsurou’s waiting for him at the top of the stairs, Kenma leaning against him, a wet hair still stuck to his forehead. They link hands the second Koutarou’s within arm’s reach, intertwining their fingers before shuffling down the stairs. Tetsurou’s other arm slung over Kenma’s shoulder. 

They kiss at the bottom of the stairs, a quick peck just because they can. Soft and sweet, and familiar but still enough to leave Koutarou a little starstruck, even after all these years. Tetsurou must notice because he smiles at him, pearly-white teeth on full-display, eyes crinkling at the sides with glee. 

Normally this smile melts Koutarou into a puddle, normally this smile sends a sugar rush through his body and warms him up from the inside out. He smiles back reflexively, like he always does but there’s something dark and unsettled brewing in Koutarou’s stomach.

Something in Tetsurou’s smile, the smile only reserved for Koutarou, is different. 

Even though his eyes are scrunched up they’re  _ hollow _ , void of the love that is supposed to accompany it. The realisation lets the dark and unsettling mass in Koutarou’s stomach gain control, slowly solidifying itself into a heavy weight and making itself a home in Koutarou’s body, even as he tries to disperse it.

* * *

Koutarou notices three things as the three of them enter the kitchen.

The first is Shouhei behind the stove, keeping track of their cooking breakfast, which would normally be done by Nobuyuki and Morisuke.

The second is Morisuke and Nobuyuki, sitting solemnly at the dining table, hands clasped in front of them at the table, backs straight. Nekomata-sensei at the head of the table.

The third thing he notices are the four pristine white envelopes laid out in front of Nekomata-sensei. Their folds sharp, their edges even sharper. The ink on their fronts is shiny and dark, reflecting some of the light. The elaborate details of the characters, written in calligraphy, are beautiful but as he realises that these beautiful illustrations are supposed to be their names their beauty turns to shackles. These are the invitations, there’s no going back now.

“Your banquet invitations were delivered this morning,” Nekomata-sensei says, shaking him out of his stupor.

“Take a seat,” he tells Koutarou and Tetsurou, gesturing towards the table. They sit down quietly, watching the envelopes with trepidation.

All four of them have their eyes on Nekomata-sensei, all of them, except for Tetsurou, have come of age and yet they still want his approval before they do anything.

He nods, his ever-present grin a little sharper than usual, and the four of them reach for their letters all at once.

When Koutarou touches the envelope, a shiver runs down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, and he involuntarily drops the letter like he’s been burnt.

All eyes are on him, questioning and with eyebrows raised. He sheepishly raises a hand to the back of his neck, mumbling something between an apology and an explanation, and trying to make a hand gesture indicating he fumbled it.

He’s not sure why he got this reaction when he touched the paper but dread collects in his stomach as he steals himself to pick it up again.

The second time he holds the envelope in his hands there’s no sensation at all.

The uncomfortable cold that caused him to shiver only returns as he breaks the seal on the envelope, restrictive and strange like the almost caress of fingers down your neck, close enough to feel their warmth, to imagine the sensation but too far away to lean into it, leaving you with goosebumps instead.

He grits his teeth, ignoring the sensation, as he takes the invitation out of the envelope and slowly unfolds it.

In the middle of the paper, written in the same glinting ink as their names had been. It says, ‘we await at sunset’ and he can hear Tetsurou mumble the words next to him.

There’s a slight tremor to his voice, a hesitation, something between resignation and regret. Only noticeable because Koutarou has spent hours upon hours studying the intricacies of Tetsurou’s voice.

He looks at his lover, takes in his side profile. The way he worries at his lips, the frown on his face, the upset in his eyes.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a thought blossoms.

_ Is this the beginning of the end? _

He refolds his letter and puts it back in the envelope. When he looks he realizes the others have done the same. They look at each other and with the invitations laid out in front of them, the smooth paper still resting in Koutarou’s hands, the reality of their situation finally sinks in.

They’ve been conscripted, they’ve been  _ chosen _ against their will and this invitation is proof—their names written in glossy black ink—that there is no escape.

They turn their gazes to Nekomata-sensei at the same time, his grin even slyer than before, a mischievous glint in his eyes mixed with something akin to pride and a little bit of malice too. He knows they seek his guidance in off-kilter moments like these but he also believes in their capabilities.

Koutarou swears the tips of Nekomata-sensei’s fingers tremble, like his body’s betraying him, but when he blinks it’s stopped.

Nekomata-sensei doesn’t say anything, merely inclines his head towards the back of the room, where a small fireplace rests. Freshly lit, hungry flames burning red hot, eagerly consuming the timber.

One by one they drop their invitations in the fireplace. Koutarou is last.

He’s the only one who watches the letter crumple, the only one who watches the paper turn black and charred, the only one who stays behind, mesmerized, instead of moving on directly to his chores. 

He watches till the envelope is nothing but ash, and when he turns around, ready to continue on with his day, he swears that from the corner of his eye, flirting with his vision, the fire turns blue.

* * *

An hour before sunset finds the four of them in their room, helping each other into their fanciest dress.

Simple cloth  _ yukata _ , a drab earth brown, a little itchy, but the only clothes they own that might be worn to something like this banquet. The only clothes they own without a single tear or hole or with fabric so thin wearing nothing would show less skin.

These are also the only clothes that will stay good for the foreseeable future, wear and tear taking more time to unravel them. They can’t do much else to prepare. 

They make their way down the stairs, every step feels more final to Koutarou. As if this is the last time he’ll walk down these steps, as if this is the last time he’ll listen to the familiar creaking of the wood, as if this is the last time he’ll take in the place he’s come to call  _ home _ after he lost the person he used to call that.

He follows behind Morisuke and Nobuyuki, stares at his feet until he’s off the stairs and he drinks in their humbling living space. 

The brick walls, the slightly uneven floor, the mismatched furniture and the kitchen with its rickety stove. The windows that rattle in a good storm, with their thin curtains. The fireplace so small there’s almost no point in using it to garner warmth.

He lingers on these things he’s become so familiar with over the past years, there’s an ache in his chest as he remembers the nights they’d clamour across the furniture running around the house in a game of tag. He remembers the first time Nekomata-sensei taught him to cook, the first time he had to clean out the fireplace and ended up with ash and soot stuck in his hair for days.

He remembers sitting cuddled up with Kuroo on their tiny couch, their limbs too long to fit unless they twisted themselves around each other and it became unclear where one of them ended and the other began.

As he steps over the orphanage’s threshold and into the street he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Trying to breathe out the discomfort that’s been crawling underneath his skin since the King’s announcement, that’s been coming back in random intervals, leaving him with dread, heavy as a rock, making itself at home in the pit of his stomach.

The discomfort isn’t dispelled, it lingers in his stomach and leaves a sour taste in his mouth like bile rising in your throat. He opens his eyes and immediately squints them shut, blinded by the golden light of the setting sun. It’s warm and when he glances at the street, blinking rapidly to disperse the spots in his vision, he is mesmerised to find the streets bathed in gold.

Glinting off the shiny cobblestones, reflecting off the windows, soaking into wooden structures and making them  _ glow _ .

The gold covers his friends too, turns their skin bronze and sets their hair ablaze. It’s infused into their forms and makes them warmer than they already are. He forces himself to smile through the lead in his stomach, in a desperate plea to be free of the dread poisoning his bloodstream and thereby his body.

Tetsurou bumps into him from behind and pushes him further into the street, he hadn’t noticed that he’d been blocking the entrance. He stumbles into the street, smile a little more genuine when Tetsurou’s grabs his hand. His grip is strong, like an anchor, but it also betrays his nerves. His knuckles turn white when he squeezes Koutarou’s hand and without a second thought Koutarou squeezes back just as hard without a second thought.

“It’ll be fine,” Tetsurou whispers as he passes him by, trying his best to sound reassuring, “it’s just a banquet, nothing to worry about,” he says at a normal volume so Morisuke and Nobuyuki can hear it too but he doesn’t sound like he believes himself, even as he tries to encourage them.

Koutarou squeezes his hand again, in silent reassurance before walking towards Nobuyuki and Morisuke. Reaching out his hand for Nobuyuki to grab so they don’t get lost in the slowly accumulating crowd of teenagers materializing down the street.

They walk towards them slowly, trying to step with determination instead of the trepidation coursing through their bodies.

Koutarou focuses on the golden sunlight, focuses on the way it colours the other children, barely adults, as they make their way through the streets. Dressed in the nicest clothes their families could afford but eerily silent. A procession of lambs up for slaughter with the palace as their final destination.

This challenge, these series of unknown tasks, is supposed to be an opportunity. A chance to elevate themselves and those dear to them from poverty, a chance at a better life with a prosperous future, the thought of going hungry but a dream. Koutarou glances around at the faces of his fellow sufferers and does not find excitement or ambition there. It’d sparked shortly, just like his had, the day before when they were faced with the potential realisation of a fantasy, but now that the dream has become reality the excitement and ambition has disappeared. In its place is fear, worry and a steely resignation.

They are outer city children. Their families were the ones hit the hardest by the famine and drought that ravished the country last summer. They are the ones who buried siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends when scarcity came to the city and only took its toll on them. They’re the ones stuck in the dregs whilst the rich continue on their blasé and indifferent ways. Unaffected by the things that determine their livelihoods.

They are given the bare minimum, and they take it with greedy fingers, hesitant to finish too quickly because they know they won’t get more.

They might have known something akin to simple joy once, might have been children running around in clearings and hiding behind trees, but they have since become jaded. Death is something they know, hunger is something they know, they know the ache in your stomach when your body  _ yearns _ for sustenance and your mind knows there’s nothing to feed you, they know loss and have experienced the cold claws of grief.

They have never lived in luxury, have gotten by on what they had and although this ‘competition’ is supposed to be their golden opportunity, their way out offered to them on a golden plate by the King himself, it does not feel as such. 

It feels like a spectacle. An opportunity to come watch poor children tear each other apart in the hopes that one of them might sit on the throne. They’re pieces in a game. The monarch might seem kind, might have laugh lines and crows’ feet, but if he cared about them— _ truly _ cared—nobody would’ve died the past summer. They wouldn’t have needed to cut down on their meagre portions so Akane and Nekomata-sensei could stay on full strength as everyone else dwindled. Fighting through the hunger through determination and desperation for life as bodies accumulated in the streets.

They would’ve gotten help, would’ve been fed by the state instead of falling asleep every night with their stomach’s churning.

There’s a cold hand squeezing Koutarou’s heart, getting stronger as the palace comes into sight, pumping ice-cold blood through his veins.

The setting sun paints the world a transcendental, effervescent gold but it does not comfort him. Only makes the hand squeeze tighter, only makes his vision swim, forcing him to hold on tighter to Kuroo’s hand.

He’s but a face in a golden crowd. A solitary entity drowning between golden bodies, golden cobblestones and golden air.

He blinks, trying to dispel the golden discomfort, but when he looks again he sees eyes, blazing an ocean blue, piercing through his soul. 

He stops in his tracks. Hesitates for a second too long, his bewilderment stalling him just long enough for Tetsurou to turn to him in concern.

His hazel eyes are  _ golden _ and Koutarou gasps. 

He’s frozen from head to toe, body turned to stone.

Tetsurou isn’t supposed to look like that.

It’s  _ wrong _ .

Tetsurou tugs at his arm, asks him if he’s alright through a fog and Koutarou nods. Unsteady on his feet, terror creeping up his spine.

His body is not his own.

There’s worry in Tetsurou’s eyes and that strange resignation that Nekomata-sensei’s had also held. Like he knows more about Koutarou’s destiny and the path laid out in front of them and knows the outcome won’t be anything good. 

He’s bracing himself for the inevitable, and the resignation only appears when Koutarou enters his line of sight. 

He hopes Tetsurou’s gut is wrong. He hopes they’ll postpone whatever inevitability that he’s resigned himself to, that they get more time, just a little more.

His thoughts wander back to the abnormal gold of Tetsurou’s eyes though, wander back to the golden cobblestones, the golden air, the gold that lingers even as the sun disappears.

His tongue sits heavy in his mouth, his muscles stiff as wooden boards as he shuffles along behind Tetsurou, trying to smile reassuringly but failing. They’re still holding hands but Koutarou wouldn’t know if he wasn’t looking down at their joined hands, bathed in gold.

There’s no sensation.

As if he’s not holding Tetsurou’s hand at all but merely imagining it, merely wishing for a touch he never had in the first place. Or like he shouldn’t be holding his hand, should instead be clinging onto a smaller hand with his own childhood palm, following that glowing blue burning in the back of his mind.

He’s taken out of his mind when he stumbles into Tetsurou’s back. Relaxing against him, in need of just the slightest hint of comfort. The slightest warmth to thaw him out because the sun isn’t strong enough.

They’ve reached the palace. It’s thick brick walls and heavy gate just as imposing as the palace resting behind it. With its towers reaching for the skies, brick glowing in the fading golden light.

Before these walls they are four faces in a sparse crowd of scrappy youngsters. They are no one, nothing, specks of dust in the breeze.

They’re distrustful and petrified.

Their fate will be decided behind these thick palace gates.

There is no escape, no going back. Just staring into a dark and murky future as the ground falls away behind you. Forcing you forwards into the darkness.

Slowly, the palace’s heavy gates swing open, forcing the people at the front of the crowd to scramble backwards, lest they get crushed under their weight. 

Behind the doors loom hedges, so high they shroud the paths between them in darkness.

No exit in sight.

A labyrinth.

“Children,” a voice proclaims from atop the palace’s walls. Koutarou’s head snaps up and he searches till he finds the silhouette of their announcer. A thin figure, hunched over as they address the crowd. 

Any semblance of hope they might’ve had dwindles as the announcer continues to speak.

“This shall be your first task,” they proclaim, voice booming. Loud enough to shush the nervous crowd and stop them in their tracks.

“Find your way through the labyrinth. Past the obstacles and the hedges that will try to keep you there,” they pause, their words heavy as stones, pushing Koutarou to the ground.

“Only those who manage to make their way through the labyrinth in the next hour may enter the banquet and continue on to the next challenge. Only they will have a chance to become the future monarch, they’re the only ones who might one day wield power,” another pause, even heavier than before, grating and  _ painful _ .

“Those of you who fail will wander the labyrinth till morning before being sent home. Ashamed, injured, robbed of a chance for a better future with no one but yourself to blame,” the announcer's voice becomes venomous, “be grateful for the chances you were given. You do not deserve them.”

The announcer turns around and disappears the second they’ve finished speaking but their words reverberate through the crowd. Their words stick in Koutarou’s ears, stay stuck in his head, seep into his bloodstream and hurt like poison.

Tetsurou looks somewhere between despairing and enraged. His eyes glinting in the setting sunlight, his jaw clenched his free hand balled into a tight fist.

Koutarou knows he must look the same. All of them must look the same.

Insulted and discarded, told to  _ beg _ for scraps because their worth is only in their ability to succeed and complete tasks they were never prepared for.

As one the crowd, every single teen, every single barely adult, inhales.

Holds their breath in rage.

They’re silent and completely still, like statues for a moment.

For an eternity that can’t be more than a single second.

The sun disappears behind the horizon. The last sliver of light abandoning them. 

The labyrinth looms in front of them. The hedges like hungry maws, ready to be fed.

They exhale as one. Steel themselves for what might rest ahead.

Koutarou’s squeezes Tetsurou’s and Nobuyuki’s hands tighter, checks on Morisuke from the corner of his eyes.

Sees the determination in their bodies, in their faces, in the set of their jaws.

_ Is this the beginning of the end? _

The eternity is broken by a loud scream starting at the front of the crowd, and as one they surge forwards.

Screaming at the top of their lungs as they charge into the lion’s den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope y'all liked reading it too, with a bit of luck I'll be able to keep up something resembling semi-regular updates but I keep making promises I can't keep so I'll just shut up.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter and if you want you can scream about it @ me on my Twitter [@The_Gh0st_King](https://twitter.com/The_Gh0st_King)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed and cya next chapter. 
> 
> [ Please consider checking out this resource to support the BLM movement ](https://t.co/GpDFI9Lubu?amp=1)


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